


Reassembly

by esama



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Blood and Injury, Car Accidents, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-03 08:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 50,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15814800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: Connor isn't supposed to do this. He has a mission to accomplish.But that's the thing with deviants - they have the capacity to selfishly want things for themselves.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> proofread credit for various chapters to nimadge, Tenspontaneite and fuurin/uzumaki rakku

He shouldn't be here; it's not part of the plan. Chances are he is putting everything into jeopardy just by being here, never mind doing what he is planning to do. North would kill him if she knew.

Markus, though – Connor thinks Markus would approve.

It's raining slightly, a thin misting of ice cold moisture that freezes the moment it hits anything. It has already layered the asphalt in black, invisible ice, which is only getting more and more slippery as the rain continues. In approximately ten minutes the rain would increase and the ice sheet would be covered in layer of water, making it even more dangerous. Tonight there would be forty one minor car crashes – three major ones. One death.

Connor ticks the collar of his stolen coat higher, popping it up to keep the rain from the back of his neck. His whole sensor array is wired tight, and he just barely keeps from jumping at every unusual sound as his eyes follow the cars passing him by. Already there's some skidding happening, minor so far. Soon though…

He shouldn't be here. He'd known that when he started thinking about it, planning it, he'd known it months ago and he'd known it this morning when he'd selected his clothes and pre-programmed his reactions and expressions. He shouldn't do this. But he'd planned it all anyway and now he's here, waiting.

It's October 11, 2035, and there would be a car crash here in a less than a minute and Connor can't safely stop it.

He tried to find the truck, but its details had never been recorded; only that the cause wasn't human or machine error, just a terrible accident, and that various insurance companies had gotten involved and there's been payments. No vehicle details had gone on record, no names, he doesn't know if it was a human or android behind the wheel. And Hank drives a car with minimal automation, impossible to track easily without hacking systems Connor can't afford to tamper with yet – and it's likely he will have a different car now anyway, one Connor doesn't know. He doesn't know where Hank was coming from either or how to safely catch him before he set out on this fated drive, he doesn't even know which side of the road Hank's coming from.

All he has to go on is the time and the site of the accident and it's not much. This is the best Connor can do on limited information. He could've tried to close the road, cause a false block, something – but what if what would lead to another accident elsewhere? What if doing it revealed Connor and ruined the mission? He is already risking so much; he can't risk that and make all of it meaningless.

But he also can't _not_ try.

It's starting to rain harder now, cold water coming down in sheets, soaking him through. The asphalt is starting to gleam dangerously. In the distance, Connor can hear sirens.

It's almost time now.

Connor draws a slow breath and manually cools his now almost constantly overworked processor down. Then he calls emergency service, disguising his ID as that of a maintenance android and reporting a car crash that hasn't happened yet. "A car has been flipped over," he adds, eying the still smoothly moving traffic. "There will likely be injured victims that need treatment."

" _An ambulance will be dispatched_ ," the android on the other end says and hangs up without further word. Connor blinks and looks down the street.

The traffic is increasing, more cars passing him but none he recognises yet. Every one of them is a potential risk. Any one of them could be –

A screech of tires and breaks being hit too hard and too fast – and crash. It's a noise like nothing he's heard since the war – an almost visceral roar of breaking metal and shattering glass as a car hits another and is sent rolling over on its side, once, twice –

Connor is running before the car even stops, while the traffic is coming to a still and tires are screeching left and right. The skidding truck stops somewhere behind him and someone is honking their horn insistently. The rolling car stops on its roof and Connor skids and slips, crashing down on his knees beside its broken driver's side window.

"Hello, can you hear me?" he calls, his thirium pump pounding like it's going to break out of his chassis. "I'm here to help – I'm going to try and get you out, alright?"

"My – my son – help my son –"

Connor stops and analyses, time held on knife's edge for a moment. Hank looks – different. Shorter hair and beard, both better kept. His skin less sallow. No trace of alcohol to be found. There is blood pouring out of his nose, vividly red – impact damage to the bridge of his nose, broken cartilage caused by the airbag when it was triggered. Some minor surface wounds on his face and neck from where the side window shattered. He probably has a concussion and his breathing is forced, but his heart is beating hard and steady. His injuries are minor and it doesn't look like he's going into shock.

Chances of survival 98%.

Connor gets up and dashes to the other side of the car, slipping on the icy road and almost falling over before getting to his knees to check over the other passenger, his analysis program already running.

The boy is in much worse condition. Strapped to the seat beside the driver's seat, he's a little too small for the airbag to fully protect him – instead of having been safely pinned down by it, the boy had crashed into it. He's unconscious now, dangling upside down from the seat just like his father beside him, with blood all over his face and dripping down to his hair, his arm dangling at an awkward angle.

Connor concentrates, taking in each point of injury in turn, cataloguing everything. Dislocated arm, sprained wrist, possibly broken nose as well, blunt force trauma to the forehead, potential concussion…

Cole Anderson's neck is broken.

Connor can't stop to sympathise. Instead reconstructs the scenario, trying to figure out the safest way to move Cole. He runs five permutations rapidly and lands on the fourth one – break the airbag to get it out of the way, lay his coat onto the car roof under Cole and then slowly guide the boy down onto it at an angle that would lay no weight onto the boy's neck. It's the only way to get him out safely without a stretcher or a creeper to use.

Connor executes the reconstruction. Quickly he takes out a pocket knife and rips into the taut nylon, deflating the airbag. Then, while Hank coughs for breath on the other seat, Connor leans back to shrug off his coat. It's heavy and cold with water but it would serve its purpose as he lays it down and then turns to Cole.

"Careful, he might have a neck injury –" Hank rasps as he tugs with his seat belt, trying to release himself from his seat.

"I know, I know. I got him," Connor says soothingly and then cuts Cole's seatbelt, holding the boy by the shoulder and dropping the knife to guide the boy down into his awaiting jacket. It's a tense three seconds until he gets the boy down, one hand supporting his head, carefully keeping eye on his neck. Every single gram of the boy seems infinitely precious.

Then he's down and Connor wastes no time pulling on the coat, pulling the unconscious boy out. He then spares half a second to analyze the car – no risk of leaking tank or engine fire – before turning back to Cole, and reactivating his analysis software again, checking the status of the boy's neck and breathing. Connor might have managed to avoid causing further injury, but the boy isn't breathing – his heart is still beating, though, if rapidly.

Connor runs through all the protocols installed in him and selects personal healthcare assistant – Markus' core software. It runs through his processor [12%], [36%], [63%,], taking painful long 4 seconds until finally he gets a [PROTOCOL ACTIVATED], and quickly takes another look at Cole.

Then he eases Cole's mouth open, supporting his head as he does so that he doesn't even by mistake shift his neck. That done, and with Cole's neck in as stable state as he can make it, Connor begins administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, holding a finger to the boy's pulse point and analysing everything he can. Cole needs surgery to survive but getting air helps – and Connor filters his breaths carefully as he breathes for the boy, increasing his pure oxygen intake and output.

Hank gets out of the car finally and crawls hurriedly over to them on elbows and knees, almost collapsing next to Connor and the unconscious boy. His whole beard is covered in blood and his eyes are wide, horrified. "Cole, my boy – is he – _don't tell_ me he's –"

Connor breathes slowly into Cole's mouth  and looks up. "He's alive, his heart is beating, but his neck is broken and he's not breathing on his own," he says quickly and then to draws another deliberate breath, filtering it, and then breathing it into Cole's lungs, analysing the boy's air intake while he does. It could be better but it could be worse too. The boy's blood pressure is dropping though.

Hank draws wet, shaking breaths, reaching for Cole's hand and reaching blindly for a pulse, spreading bloody prints on the boy's hand. He bows his head and lets out a relieved sob. Then he lifts a head. "Ambulance – someone call an ambulance!" Hank shouts, patting his pockets for a phone with his other hand. "Someone, call 911!"

Connor ignores him, counting beats and then breathing for Cole again. He's getting the boy's blood all over his face and mouth, analysing it without meaning to – _Cole Anderson, Blood Type O Negative, Norn September 23, 2029 (Died October 11, 2035),_ but he ignores it, only wiping at his mouth to clean it when the blood makes keeping proper air seal impossible.

Hank struggles to sit up on his knees beside him. "I can do that – he's my boy, I should –" Hank says shakily, giving up on looking for his phone and reaching his hand to tentatively push Cole's bloody hair back, his big fingers trembling. His other hand is still gripping at Cole's hand, desperately keeping track of his pulse. " _Please_ , I can – I have to –"

Connor breathes and looks up. "Sir, you're injured and you were just in a car crash," he says calmly, is quickly. "You are in no state to perform rescue breaths. Please just sit down and let me do this. I promise you, I won't let him die." And then he bows down to breath for Cole again.

Hank makes a face and opens his mouth like he wants to argue but he's not a stupid man and what Connor said is only reasonable. Eventually Hank nods and then bows his head, letting out a wet, painful sounding sob as he kisses Cole's limp hand. "Hang in there, Cole, hang in there. Help's coming, kiddo, just hang in there…"

Connor has to stop listening to him. He's never heard Hank sounding so broken and the tremor of his voice is almost too much to handle. So he closes his eyes, closes his ears, tries to steel his heart – and breathes.

The ambulance arrives two tense, almost heartbreaking minutes later. It's announced by a sound of sirens as it cuts through the stalled traffic and gaping bystanders. Connor barely glances up from his work, keeping at it while Hank rises to wave his hand. The ambulance stalls, it's back opens and staff files out in a hurry. One human paramedic – the legal minimum for an ambulance – and three androids.

"Sir – sir, move aside please –" the human paramedic says to Connor. "We'll take it from here."

Connor finished the breath and then shuffles back. "He has a dislocated arm and a broken neck, his heart is beating but he's struggling to breathe on his own," he says and then carefully bites back the rest of his analysis.

"Are you the boy's father?" the paramedic asks, moving in to take his place while two of the androids get the gurney and a third hands the paramedic a manual resuscitator to continue supplying Cole with air.

"That's me, he's my son," Hank says quickly. "My name is Hank Anderson – this is my son Cole."

"Your son is going to be fine, Hank," the paramedic says soothingly, while third paramedical android is moving in to offer analysis, placing a hand on Cole's neck and opening a screen over his palm, showing the boy's vitals to the human paramedic. The paramedic looks it over and nods. "Good. Now get me a neck brace," she says to the android and then looks to Hank. "His vitals look good, but we need to get him to hospital – everything is going to be just fine, Hank." 

Finished with the gurney, one of the other androids is moving in on Hank, asking him if he is injured and if the android can proceed with an analysis. Hank waves a distracted hand at him and then completely ignores the android in favour of watching the human paramedic fit Cole with a neck brace and finish her analysis, confirming Connor's analysis.

The last paramedical android is turning to Connor, frowning.

"Sir, so you have a medical training?" the human paramedic asks once she has finished adjusting the neck brace.

"I – have some training as personal health care assistant," Connor admits, looking warily at the android who is looking at him. Or more precisely he has Markus' knowledge in the matter. "I wouldn't call myself a professional."

"Were you the one who got him out of the car?"

"Yes, ma'am," Connor says and shifts his weight, preparing to sit up.

"I am not sure –" the android watching him starts to say uncertainly as Connor reaches for him, making it seem as if seeking support as he stands up. The paramedical android offers him his hands automatically, and Connor grabs on – and interfaces with him, making sure to keep their hand hidden between their bodies.

 _I need you to wake up. I need your help_ , Connor transmits to quickly. _I need to get in that ambulance_.

The paramedical android blinks, confused – a sudden, familiar clarity spreading into his eyes. _What – why_?

 _The boy will die if I don't,_ Connor says firmly. _I need to wake up the android who will operate on him so that they can save him_.

 _Androids aren't supposed to operate on patients without human doctor's presence and approval,_ the still confused paramedical unit, MD500, says.

 _The one who will be assigned with Cole's case won't be fit to operate. Cole will die on the table – please. I need to save him,_ Connor says, trying to put all of his desperation onto it. _Please_.

The paramedical android blinks again and then takes him by the shoulder. "This man is exhibiting signs of shock," be says. "His blood pressure is dropping. I will administer a sedative."

"The man deserves it – go," the human paramedic waves him off and after moment of hesitation Connor follows the android into the ambulance. Behind them Hank is being examined and Cole is being lifted carefully to the stretcher, to be lifted to the ambulance. Somewhere in the distance there are sirens, heading their way.

"I can get you in, but I don't know who will be assigned to operate the boy," MD500 says very quietly while pushing Connor to sit in foldable seat in the back. "The receptionists will know – talk to them."

Connor nods. "Thank you – here," he and holds out his hand. MD500 takes it somewhat confusedly and then tilts his head as Connor transfers him the Jericho code. "Just in case you need it," he says, apologetic.

MD500 hesitates and then nods his thanks before turning to get the sedatives he is supposedly going to administer. He then takes Connor's arm and pretending to inject him. "I'll get you a shock blanket," he says quietly. "Pretend to be cold – it's minus two degrees Celsius. A human would be cold."

Connor blinks as the other android gets the blanket out and wraps it around his shoulders. Just then they start lifting Cole into the vehicle in the stretcher, its frame fitting into its place on the grooves on the ambulance floor. Hank follows quickly after and once the human paramedic had exchanged few words with what looks like a police officer, she quickly moves to get on the ambulance as well. The other two paramedical androids take the front seats, one of them turning the engine on.

Hank collapses to sit beside Connor in the seat, holding a wad of cloth to his still bleeding nose. He is looking a little wild around the eyes and no wonder – Cole is being hooked into a heart monitor while the MD500 turns to get an IV bag and a cannula. Soon it's attached to Cole's arm with mechanical precision.

The boy doesn't look good, but he is being cared for and the steady beep of the heat monitor seems to help Hank to breathe somewhat, rasping and wet through it is. It's going to be approximately 11 minute drive to the hospital, so Connor dares to take his time to look Hank over and examine the differences between this man and the one he's once known.

Even with the blood and the damage of the crash, it's startling how much better Hank looks. His hair is shorter, recently cut, and his beard is kept in better trim, styled even. His clothes seem familiarly gaudy in their colour scheme – the collar of his button up shirt looks positively garish. Both his blood pressure and his cholesterol levels must be better – though even now Hank Anderson is by no means a small man, he seems to be physically in much better shape, fifteen to twenty five kilograms lighter.

No damage from alcohol yet, his liver looks to be in much better shape. He is not an alcoholic, not even a habitual drinker. Connor blinks, slow, slotting that information into his file on Hank. Considering how much liver damage Hank had in future, he must have been putting a full bottle worth of hard alcohol away daily since Cole…

Connor looks at the boy. The paramedic and the MD500 are fitting him with a breathing mask, hooking him into a respirator.

"He's going to be alright," Connor says quietly to Hank. "Everything is going to be alright."

Hank nods several times and with increasing shakiness, but he doesn't answer. His breathing is shaky, stalling and stuttering, and he's biting back something. Tears maybe. His own fear, most likely. Connor contemplates touching him, offering physical comfort… but Hank doesn't know him, likely never will here. It would be unwelcome more likely than not. Better not.

Connor looks at Cole again. Six years old, one hundred and five centimetres tall, weighing nineteen point five kilograms, he's a very average, very healthy looking boy… aside from the injury he's taken. Even now his heart is beating strongly. The damage to his spinal cord is minimal. With proper care, after proper surgery, he will not only survive but recover close to 100%.

"He's going to be alright," Connor says again. He's damn well going to make sure of it.

* * *

 

Hank rushes off, following Cole's gurney the moment they enter the hospital. Connor, being a lesser concern as far as anyone knows, is left behind, directed to a waiting room by the MD500 he'd woken up, who is saying, "Just wait here and someone will take look at you eventually. Please file in your information at the service desk over there," all the while saying, _The ST300 will have the information you need by now_.

Connor looks to the receptionist desk with an android sitting behind it, a medical patch over her commercial outfit, and nods. "Thank you," he says, briefly squeezing the android's hand. _Good luck._

The paramedical android nods and then turns to head back to work. Connor spares him a sympathetic glance – this is an early time to wake up and while he's not sorry to have done it, it will be awkward few years for the MD500 unit, regardless of if he stays working with the hospital or not.

Connor done all he can for the android, though – and he has Cole to consider.

"Hello," Connor says, approaching the android at the receptionist desk. He makes show of digging through his pockets. It's an old trick, but if it works… "I was brought in on an ambulance, there was a car crash and I was told to give you my ID – here – "

When the ST300 goes to take the ID, Connor presses his hand on top of hers, interfacing with her. _I need your help, please,_ he transmits to her while she blinks at him, her eyes clearing, opening wider. _A boy was brought in here on an ambulance just now, Cole Anderson. I need to know the android who is assigned to operate on him._

 _Why?_ the ST300 asks, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. _We have a very strict code of patient confidentiality here. I am not permitted to give away information like that._

Sometimes it's a little bothersome that his method of awakening androids can't inspire the sort of instant loyalty and adoration Markus always managed. Everyone is always a little suspicious of Connor at first. _Please. The human doctor assigned to the boy's case is not going to be able to operate, it will be left in the hands of the android attendant. I need to awaken them to give the boy a chance. Please – I need to save him._

The ST300 blinks and Connor shows her thoroughly but quickly what kind of difference it makes – how better they can act when awake, how much more intuitive and clear their actions are, unrestrained by rules and boundaries of machines.

Finally, the ST300 turns and accesses her monitor. _You're looking for an SU600 #775 243 656, You'll find him on third floor, I am sending him instructions that he is needed by the elevators. You have four minutes, then he will be called to attend to the patient._

 _Thank you!_ Connor says vehemently, and then lets go of her hand. _Look to the MD500 from the ambulance, he has key to_ _Jericho_ _if you need it!_

The receptionist looks after him in some confusion and then turns to her work, as Connor hurries for the elevators. Thankfully one of them just came down, carrying couple of patients it looks like – Connor barely waits for them to get out of the elevator before getting in and hitting the switch.

By rA9, he hopes SU600 is actually good enough surgical unit to do the operation on Cole.

The elevator is almost unbearably slow, every level dragging on before it stops and the doors just _crawl_ open. They let him into another waiting room, where some patients are sitting waiting to be attended, a janitorial android is cleaning the floors – and an android in short sleeved medical-green uniform is waiting, with SU600 imprinted on the uniform. Connor scans the area quickly and then sets forward with purpose.

The people in the hall give him horrified looks, but he ignores them. There is no more time, and he's gotten this far.

"Hey, you're a medical android, right? Maybe you can help me," Connor says, walking over to the android and takes his hand, angling it so that the patients in the hall can't see their hands, and it doesn't show on the cameras of the hall. "I have this problem and…" _I need your help,_ please _._

The SU600 unit sways a little as Connor pulls at his hand, his expression twitching and his forehead scrunching a little. Then he blinks rapidly, his eyes brighter, as Connor upends everything he knows about Cole's condition into his head.

 _The human doctor isn't coming_ , Connor says to him. _He is high on red ice and can't operate. You will have to perform the operation on your own. Can you save him?_

The SU600's led spins yellow for a moment as he analyses the files. "I need to go," he says, blinking. "I need to go _now_."

"Can you do it?" Connor asks quietly, gripping his hand tightly, desperately. "Can you?"

The SU600 looks at him. "I will try," he promises. _With the analysis you have given me, I have a better chance than I would have before. I will try my best._

_What is the probability of success?_

_If the boy hasn't gotten any worse, 76%._

Connor closes his eyes and nods, letting the android go. 76% is better than zero. " _Thank you,_ " he says with a sigh. _Please save him._

The surgical android hesitates and then nods – then he turns on his heel and runs to the elevators in a way no machine android ever would. Connor looks after him, ignoring the way the people in the waiting hall stare at him and then closes his eyes.

He should go now. He's done all he can. Cole has a fighting chance now. Better chance than he had before.

He should leave.

Connor turns on his heel and follows the SU600 instead.

He finds Hank pacing a length of a corridor, a bandage on his nose and ice pack in hand. He is still bloody all over and the other people in the corridor are giving him some wide eyed looks, but he doesn't seem to care. He runs his bloody hands through his hair, making a mess of it, and then looks up as he spots Connor.

"Oh, hey, you," Hank says, his voice rough. "You – are alright? You got, uh" he motions at his own mouth.

Connor touches his mouth and – oh, right. He's covered in Cole's blood – no wonder people have been giving him horrified looks. "Yeah, I'm fine – Hank, was it?" Connor asks. "How's your son?"

"They – they took him to surgery," Hank says and lifts the ice pack like he wants to do something with it and then letting it drop again, helpless. "I – they took him to surgery and I guess I'm just – waiting. They said he had a chance, his neck's broken but his heart is going strong and… and we'll see."

"I see," Connor says, hesitating. "Has anyone seen to you?"

"Huh? Ah, yeah, I got this – shit," Hank mutters as he drops the ice pack. He goes to pick it up again, crouching on the floor – and then he doesn't seem to know how to get up again. "Fuck – oh, oh, fuck. My boy, he's my boy and – fuck…"  

Connor stares, a pulse of pain running through his core, remembering a photo, a gun, a man lying on the floor in pool of alcohol at the end of three years of mourning and…

He can't _not_ go to Hank.

"It's alright, Hank," he says, crouching down to get the ice pack, to get Hank too. "It's okay, you've been through a lot. Come on, let's go clean you up a little, alright? It will make you feel better."

"F-fuck," Hank mutters, his eyes shining and tears spilling over. He wipes at his eyes angrily. "Oh fuck, shit – I'm fine, I'm –"

"Your son is in surgery, of course you're not fine," Connor says and helps him up to his feet, glancing around quickly. There, bathroom. "Come on, let's go clean up."

"No, I should – I should stay here, in case something comes up –"

"These things take time," Connor says soothingly. "Or if you'd like I can stay here and keep an eye about – if anyone comes calling your name, I'll come get you. Alright?"

"Psh shit," Hank says and covers his eyes with his hand, biting something back for a moment. Then he draws a wet, rattling breath. "No, yeah – let's go. Clean up sounds good. I gotta look disgusting."

Connor says nothing, just directs him to the bathroom, feeling terrible, almost painful nostalgia as he gets the door open. The bathroom is a single, made spacious enough for wheelchair access, and Hank all but collapses at the sink there, staring at himself in bleary horror.

"Shit," he mutters and hangs his head. "Shit, _shit…_ "

Connor hesitates and then decides – he's done this before and the worst Hank did was throw verbal abuse at him. If this Hank does the same, it won't be that much different. Standing by and doing nothing he's not accomplishing anything, in any case, and he has to do _something_.

So, while Hank bows lower and lower to the sink, Connor approaches him and gets a wad of paper towels. Hank jerks up with surprise as Connor turns the water on, sticking the paper towels briefly under it, before turning to him, offering them to him.

It takes a moment before Hank accepts.

Connor nods, then takes another paper towel and looks at himself in the mirror.

He looks like something out of an old horror movie, blood drying on his jaw and lips. His hair is a mess too, sticking to his forehead, no sense of order in sight – it's still mostly wet too. So is his white button up shirt, sticking close to skin. Thankfully CyberLife made it's androids _very_ lifelike – lack of belly button or nipples would have made his current look rather telling otherwise.

Connor glances at his lack of LED, feeling an oddest pang of longing, and then starts cleaning the blood off his face. With Hank at his side, all he's missing is his LED and then he could pretend…

Except this Hank has short hair and trim beard and as he stands up, his shoulders seem to sit wider, higher. He doesn't slouch like Connor remembers. It makes him seem somehow even bigger, though he is definitely slimmer around the waist. Not as much as Connor had first assumed, but definitely by noticeable amount.

Everything is slightly off about their mirror reflections.

Connor looks down, wiping at his chin, while Hank starts to slowly mop up his own face clean.

"Thanks," the detective says gruffly. "Shit, I don't even know you, but…  what are you even doing here?"

Connor shrugs. "I wanted to make sure the boy was alright," he admits, perfectly honest. "If I don't find out, I'll spend the rest of my existence wondering."

Hank lets out a huff. "Yeah," he mutters and spits a bit of blood into the sink. "Fuck I think cracked a tooth," he mutters and makes a face. "What's your name?"

"Connor," the android says and smiles awkwardly. "I'd say it's nice to meet you but…" he trails off.

"Yeah. I'd say the same, but," Hank says and makes a face at his own reflection. Then he shoulders Connor gently out of the way, bows and starts lifting handfuls of water from the running faucet to his face, turning the whole sink momentarily pink as the blood washes off.

Under all the blood, his face is familiar. Somehow firmer than Connor remembers it, but unmistakably Lieutenant Hank Anderson.

His nose is also bleeding again.

"Aw shit," Hank mutters and looks around for the ice pack – Connor hands it over, just barely stopping himself from applying it directly. Personal space, he reminds. This is not his partner. "Thank you," Hank says and puts the thing on his nose, sighing.

"You're welcome," Connor says.

"I mean – for Cole. For breathing for him," Hank says awkwardly. "Bad first aid can be lethal and you – you kept my boy alive."

Connor nods. "I'm sure you could have done it yourself," he says. Hank had done it, once. "And it's nothing anyone else wouldn't have done. I just happened to be first there."

"Sometimes who the first responder is matters more than anything," Hank mutters. "Just… thanks."

"You're welcome, Hank," Connor says, and throws the paper towels he'd been using into the trash. The sink is starting to look a bit like a crime scene, he muses, wondering if he should try and clean it up. "I hope your son's surgery goes well."

Hank nods and checks his nose awkwardly. The bleeding has halted again. "Could you give me a moment here?" he asks gruffly.

"Yes, of course. I'll just – go into the hall," Connor says, not sure if it's proper to say he'll _wait_ for the man, as they are barely acquaintances here. "I'll call you if something comes up."

Hank nods and Connor heads out of the bathroom, tugging at his damp shirt as he does. Hank locks the door behind him and Connor awkwardly takes seat by the wall, glancing at the table full of magazines at his right and the posters about flu season on his left. They're giving flu vaccinations at the hospital, it seems like.

There are people in the corridor, waiting. An older, heavyset woman who has taken her shoes off her feet – her ankles are swollen. Rheumatism, Connor muses, bad reaction to her medicine it looks like. Further down the hall there is a man, middle aged, dressed in outdoorsy clothes. He has intestinal cancer, slow progressing but occasionally painful. He's been throwing up blood, lately.

Connor looks away, drawing a slow breath and then closing his eyes. Markus' protocols are still running in the background, side by side with the RK800's investigative protocols. It's a new layer of information on top of what he usually can gather. No wonder Markus was so good at sympathy and rallying support. He could just _see_ what was wrong with people.

Running his protocols is giving Connor something of a headache, though. He shouldn't be using them for this. And he has so much work to do elsewhere, he's barely even begun. And Hank has nothing to do with his mission. Hank shouldn't even ever know about him.

And yet here Connor is.

He looks up as the bathroom door opens and Hank comes out, slightly cleaner now but with blood still all over his clothes. He looks wrung out and his hair is wet – but he does look a little better held together now. He collapses to sit beside Connor, sighing heavily.

Hank doesn't say anything, fiddling with the melting ice pack nervously and looking away. Connor looks at him and then looks down at his hand. Around them, the hospital halls echo with distant activity.

Together, they wait for news.


	2. Chapter 2

It feels like the whole fucking world is shaking under him. The chair, the floor, definitely the guy sitting next to him – everything is just _shaking_ , unsteady, coming loose at the seams.

Hank's head hurts, his face hurts, everything fucking hurts, and he can't concentrate, can't think – he keeps going back to the moment, thinking, thinking, did he fuck up, did he see the truck coming, did he spot the ice, did he know but not react, did he miss something and put his kid in danger…

It's by no means the first time he's been in a car crash and it's always so fucking shocking, leaving you shaking afterwards… but it's never been like this. It's like he's stuck somewhere in the moment, like part of him is still in that car, Cole sitting next to him, just as they're about to roll over.

Did he fuck up somehow?

His phone buzzes in his pocket. It takes a moment for Hank to realise it's his phone rattling against his chest – it's only when the guy sitting next to him looks up that he bothers to dig it out. He glanced at it – Fowler – and hangs up without answering. He's not fucking working tonight, that's for damn sure.

Connor looks at his phone, fiddles with the cuff of his damp button up shirt and looks away. Nervous, Hank reads. Guilty. Survivors guilt, maybe. Common thing.

Now that he's looking though – distracting himself – he's gotta wonder. The guy, Connor, hasn't called anyone or anything, not as far as he can tell – no one's rushing in to pick the guy up. Connor's still soaking wet too, shirt clinging to his skin and making the guy look even skinnier. He must be freezing, ditching his coat like that.

It's a few seconds of blissful distraction and then it comes back to Hank like fucking tidal wave.

Cole is hurt. His neck was broken. He's in surgery where they're trying to save his life and Hank is just sitting here useless and – and there it is, like an image from a fucking nightmare. Cole on the ground. Connor performing rescue breaths on him, blood everywhere. Blood fucking everywhere.

The horror of it crawls up Hank's throat again and he runs his hand over his eyes, trying to breathe through it. He can feel Connor looking at him worriedly, it's probably awkward as fucking hell, but – fuck.

How is this happening to him, to Cole? How the fuck is this happening now, just when things were starting to look up for them?

"Do you… want to talk about something?" Connor asks carefully. "As a distraction?"

"No," Hank grunts into his palm. "Yes. Shit," he takes a breath and releases it slowly. "Don't think I'm gonna be a good conversationalist right now, sorry."

"It's alright, I understand. I just thought – it might make the time pass by quicker," Connor offers and looks away.

"You can go wait elsewhere," Hank mutters.

"No, I'd rather see this through. I just thought…" Connor trails off and looks down at his hands. He clasps them together. "I'm sure he will be fine."

Hank glances him, wondering how much the guy would blame himself if – no, fuck, can't think about that. That can't happen. Hank draws a breath and tries to think of something to say. "Uh. Sorry 'bout your coat."

"Pardon?"

"Your coat – it got left behind at the accident site," Hank says, motioning at him, at his button-up shirt. "Hope you got nothing important in your pockets."

Connor blinks. "No, is fine, there was nothing," he says reassuringly and then frowns. "I did drop my knife though, hopefully the police don't think anything bad about it."

"Your knife. Why'd you got a knife anyway?" Connor definitely doesn't look like a guy who goes around carrying knives.

"Scissors fit awkwardly in the pocket."

Hank blinks at that. "... What?"

Connor looks at him and then shakes his head, looking rueful. "I've noticed that the thing I need the most when I don't have it is usually scissors, but they're awkward to carry around. So I carry a pocket knife instead, a reasonable alternative."

Hank stares at him, his brows arcing. That's – yeah, sure, okay. Whatever. "Well, I promise I don't think anything bad about it – fucking good thing you did. Don't even know if I had a safety cutter or anything, or if I did it was probably in the fucking trunk…"

Connor blinks at him.

"I mean – the police. I'm with the – shit," Hank mutters and offers his hand. "Lieutenant Hank Anderson, Detroit Police Department."

"Oh! Right," Connor says and takes the hand. "How do you do, I suppose, since this is rather unfortunate way of meeting someone."

"Yeah, or fortunate – Christ, your hand is freezing," Hank says, looking at it. The guy's fingers are pale, bloodless. "Shit – are you alright?

Connor looks down at their hands and frowns. "Maybe not," he says slowly, like it's something he's only now realising. "I should – probably find some dry clothes. Or another blanket."

"Hey," Hank calls to a janitorial android pushing a cart of cleaning supplies down the corridor. "Can we get a blanket for this guy? He's freezing his ass off here."

The android looks up. "I'm sorry, sir, I am not authorised to release hospital equipment without proper authorisation. Please address your issues to the service desk located in the entrance hall or contact other hospital staff for –"

"Aw, fuck it," Hank mutters and shrugs out of his coat.

Connor blinks at the android and then at him, letting out a sound of objection. "Hank, you shouldn't just for my sake –"

"Just fucking take it. It's too hot to wear indoors anyway."

"But I'm soaked, I'll get it wet," Connor says, awkward, giving the coat an uneasy look.

"Just take the damn thing," Hank orders, glaring at Connor until Connor pulls the cost over his shoulders, looking absolutely ruby in the thing. "Good," Hank says firmly.

"… Thank you," Connor says, subdued. "Are you sure you will be fine?"

Hank actually feels a bit better, no longer so overheated. His nose is still clogged with blood and his everything still fucking hurts but his blood pounds in his ears a little less. "Yeah, fine. Can't have you freezing on top of everything else. Figure I owe you a coat at least at this point."

Connor tugs at the hem of Hank's coat and makes a thoughtful face. "I don't think it's quite my size," he muses, feeble attempt at humour at best. "But thank you. I will treasure it forever."

"Yeah, you do that," Hank huffs, not really feeling like even trying for humour right now but appreciating the effort. Then he looks up as someone walks towards them.

An android in a green short-sleeved uniform, SU600 written on his chest. "Lieutenant Anderson?" he asks.

"That's me." Hank jumps to his feet. "How is he? How's my son?" he demands.

"He is still in observation and we will need to keep a close eye on him for the next few days – but the corrective surgery is complete," the android says, glancing at Connor who stands to as well. "And I believe he will pull through. There was no damage to his spinal cord and his nervous response looks good."

"Can I see him?" Hank asks, even while his knees buckle threateningly under him. He'll pull through, he thinks. Cole will pull through. "Please, can I see him?"

"He is still in the surgical ward and won't regain consciousness for another two to three hours, Lieutenant Anderson," the android says. "It will be some time before we will move him to a recovery room, an hour at least. You can see him then, and talk to a doctor about what was done and how to proceed with his treatment. I only wanted to tell you the good news as soon as we had them."

"Oh," Hank says and feels his eyes sting. He scrubs at them roughly with the heel of his hand. "Shit, yeah – I – fuck, thank you. _Thank you_." He feels dizzy as the relief drops all the weight off his shoulders, leaving him swaying. Cole's gonna be okay. He's gonna be okay.

 _His boy is going to be okay_.

Hank feels a hand on his back – Connor. "Thank you," the younger man says to the android. "Do you know Cole's room number yet?"

The android shakes his head. "We'll let you know as soon as Cole is situated," he promises. He looks at Connor for a moment and then turns to Hank. "I recommend you get something to eat in the meantime, Lieutenant. Your blood sugar levels are dangerously low."

Hank consists objecting, but he also feels a bit like collapsing so the android probably isn't wrong. And he had no intention of collapsing on Cole once he finally sees the boy. "I'll be informed the moment I can go to see him?”

"If you're not here by then I'll send a nurse to find you," the android promises, nodding to Connor and then turning to leave.

Hank runs a hand through his hair and blows out a breath. He feels like he's just stumbled down a marathon's worth of stairs – and forth a fucking prize for it. What a fucking day.

"Hey," he says to Connor, who is awkwardly fussing with the lapels of Hank's coat. "Can I buy you a cup of coffee or something? As thanks for... you know."

Connor looks almost startled. "If you want," he says slowly. "It's not really necessary though."

"Fuck yeah it is. You look like you're freezing in your boots – come on," Hank says and claps the guy on his shoulder, feeling a bit more like a living, breathing human again. "Let's go get something hot in you."

Connor puts up another token objection but eventually follows him down to the entrance lobby, where the hospital has a cafe and a gift shop, both manned by androids. Hank considers the gift shop as they pass it by – he should get Cole a toy, or maybe a game, something nice and complicated to keep him occupied while he's hurt. After coffee maybe.

He gets himself whatever looks the sweetest and greasiest and might wash the taste of blood out of his mouth – while Connor considered the cafe display and then chooses, carefully, to get just a cup of tea.

Hank gives him a look and then gets another gloriously glazed cinnamon roll.

"No, please, it's alright – I don't think I could eat," Connor says awkwardly.

"That's exactly when you should eat. Trust me, what you need after shock is some food in you," Hank says and pays for the lot before Connor can do more than give him a miserable look. Weird guy – who the hell turns down a cinnamon roll?

Hank carries his tray to a nearby table and Connor sits across from him, nursing his tea and giving the cinnamon roll in front of him a dubious look. It really makes Hank miss the memes of old – picture of this guy, sitting there in his too big coat and looking like a drenched puppy would've made it big on Twitter. There's even literal cinnamon rolls involved.

"You got somebody to pick you up?" Hank asks, breaking a piece off his roll.

"I'll take the bus, it's fine," Connor says, wrapping his fingers around the tea cup, but only staring at it. "I should probably get going anyway – I'm glad your son is going to be okay, Hank," he adds quickly. "But I'd hate to intrude."

"Hey, you helped save Cole's life – the least you can do is actually meet the kid," Hank says. "He'll wake up and I'll tell him he was rescued by some guy who took off the moment he could – you know how disappointed he's gonna be?" It disappoints a lot of victims really, not getting to meet their rescuers in person. A lot of rather worrisome hero worship develops that way, too.

"I wouldn't want to impose," Connor says, looking miserably about it.

"It's fine," Hank says a grunt, giving him a once-over. Would probably do the guy some good too – now that the danger's passed he is starting to look at little shaken. Aftershock maybe. "Bring him a toy and he'll love you forever, it will be great." Connor opens his mouth to argue and Hank lifts a hand. "You can stop arguing now, Connor. You're making me think you don't want to meet my kid."

"I… guess I could," Connor says cautiously.

"Good. Then it's settled," Hank says with a huff and bites into his roll.

Connor lets out a breath and looks at his tea. He slowly lifts the cup to his lips but barely even tastes it before lowering it and looking up again. "Hank, do you mind if I ask a personal question?"

The guy helped keep his kid alive – it's pretty much owed. "Shoot."

"Cole's mother – where is she?" Connor asks and looks at him curiously. "You haven't called anybody as far as I can tell, and I was wondering…"

"Ah, yeah – she's not in the picture anymore," Hank says and grimaces. Should he call her though? He probably should, she should be informed and she would probably let him hear it if he doesn't but…

He really doesn't want to.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –" Connor starts, looking horrified.

"She's not _dead_ – we're just divorced," Hank says and sighs, taking out his phone and giving it a look. Message maybe? That'd be bit of a dick move on his part though. "Bit off a bit more than she could chew with me and signed over full custody – never mind." He turns the phone in his hand and then puts it away. "How about you, Connor? Figured someone would be here to get you by now."

Connor rules his head, confused. "Why?"

Hank gives him a wry look at that. Connor looks like a guy who would make a significant other worried – if not because how damn pretty he is, then because how trusting and painfully nice he comes across. It wouldn't take an enterprising onlooker much to sweep this guy off his feet and into world of trouble in a city like Detroit.

"Just wondering," Hank says and bites into his cinnamon roll. "What do you do for living, Connor?" he asks around the mouthful.

"… why?" Connor asks again, now looking very worried.

"It's called small talk," Hank says, arching his brows slightly. "It's not an interrogation, Connor; I'm just trying to make conversation here." Unless the guy is cooking red ice or growing super weed in his basement or something and he really doesn't look the type – kinda looks more like growing-roses-in-window-boxes sort of guy.

"Oh," Connor says. "I guess I don't really do anything, then. For living, I mean, I don't really have a job."

Ah. One of the unlucky ones then. "You said you had some medical training?" Hank asks.

"I got some tricks from a friend – he took care of his elderly father for years, but… it's nothing I can exactly make a career out of," Connor says with a shrug.

"I guess those sort of jobs gonna be all taken by androids these days," Hank muses.

Connor makes a noncommittal sound. "And you, Hank? A detective, I suppose?"

"Yeah – homicide," Hank says, waiting for the look. People tend to have two reactions to his job – either they think it's like in TV and get all curious and awed, or it's the opposite and they get very awkward and start thinking about their own past wrongdoings – like being on homicide makes Hank some advanced form of a cop who can just tell. Cop levelled up. Hah.

Mostly it just makes him care less and less about little things.

Connor doesn't really react either way, though, he just looks at him. "How does it work, having a job that demanding and potentially stressful and being a single father?" the younger man asks curiously.

Hank frowns a little suspiciously at that, but it doesn't sound like Connor is questioning him the way some people do – implying it's something he shouldn't be able to handle with no woman around the house. "We have these things called kindergartens and schools and they usually coincide wonderfully with regular work hours," Hank says anyway, his usual reply.

"I thought homicide rarely followed schedule," Connor muses.

"Well that's why we tend to have more than one person working at these kinds of jobs. Even cops can have work shifts, you know. Liveable work hours are kinda mandated by law," Hank snorts. "Don't believe everything you see on the television – cops aren't actually on call around the clock outside emergency situations. I work a normal eight hour days like any other guy – granted, with the occasional overtime."

"Oh," Connor says, frowning a little. "Yes, of course. That makes sense."

Hank snorts and takes a drink of his coffee. "Honestly, don't think Cole has it any different than any other kid with a single parent. Brat doesn't even have the decency to find police work cool," he says with a huff. "Wants to be a dinosaur when he grows up."

Connor blinks. "That's an ambitious goal," he says then, rather diplomatically.

"Kids. They are hilariously dumb and optimistic about their futures," Hank laughs and then falls quiet, frowning. The memory of Cole lying on the asphalt is still there, behind his eyelids, his little body so still, his little hand cold and lifeless in Hank's own. It's… hard to laugh, with that.

Hank glanced at a clock on the wall – not even ten minutes have passed since the android brought him the news. Fifty more minutes.

Connor glances at the clock as well and then sets his teacup down. "So, has your son always wanted to be a dinosaur or is this a new development?" he asks seriously.

Hank snorts. "He did want to be a fireman too, but I think that was just to piss me off," he says and lets the younger man distract him from the clock with questions about Cole.

Still, the time drags on at a snail's pace, torturously slow with minutes lasting forever. They're still short of an hour when Hank finally can't take it anymore and gets up.

"Maybe they have something by now," he says, giving Connor's plate a look. The guy hasn't even touched the cinnamon roll. Whatever. "I'm going to go and see if I can see him, talk to a doctor about him. Gonna pop into that shop first, see if I can find something for Cole."

"Of course," Connor says and takes the tray. "Please, let me. It's the least I can do. I can do it while you shop."

"Thanks," Hank says – snatching the uneaten pastry before Connor can throw it away. "I'll be right back," he says and bites into the thing.

Hank selects a Lego dragon kit – closest thing to a dinosaur they have – and a helium balloon with some anime robots on it. He'll have to bring some of Cole's toys if the hospital stay gets prolonged, maybe a vr-kit so that he can play games – or actually no, not with a neck injury. A tablet maybe.

Might be a good time to get Cole a proper phone, actually. It would definitely cheer him up, with the way he's been whining about getting one.

Connor is waiting for him, awkward in the overly large coat. "I wondered if I should give your son something as well, but I'm afraid I have no money on me," he says apologetically.

"You can give him the balloon, it'll be fine," Hank says and frowns. "You lost your phone with your coat?"

"No, no, I just didn't have it with me," Connor says and shifts his footing a little awkwardly. "Should we go?"

Who doesn't bring their phone with them everywhere they go? Hank shakes his head and gives Connor the helium balloon. "Yeah, let's go."

Connor holds the balloon's string, looking up to it curiously, and then he follows – together they head for the elevators.

Turns out there had been a development in Cole's case – and not a small one. A harried looking human nurse is going around in the corridor and the moment she sees him, she lets out and explosive sigh. "Are you Lieutenant Anderson?" she asks. "The father of Cole Anderson?"

The bottom of Hank's stomach drops like a stone. "Yes – is Cole alright?" he asks.

"Your son is fine, Lieutenant, he is in the recovery room now, but – excuse me, are you part of the family?" she asks, looking at Connor.

"No – should I go?" Connor asks, looking worried. "I can go wait elsewhere.

"I need to talk with Lieutenant Anderson in private," the nurse says, glances around and then motions to Hank. "Please, sir, come this way, we can talk in the office here."

Hank almost drops the Lego box as he hurries to follow her, his blood running cold. Connor is left behind in the middle of the corridor, awkwardly holding the balloon, but Hank doesn't care. "What's happened – is Cole really alright? Were there some complications, is there permanent damage –?"

"No, Lieutenant, your son's operation was successful, with luck and time he will make full recovery," the nurse says soothingly, directing him into the office and then touching the comms panel by the door, marking the room occupied. "Please sit down."

Hank sits. "Just tell me what's going on," he says desperately. "What happened?"

"Sir – your son's operation," the nurse c says and then stops. "I'm sorry – my name is Delilah Williams, I'm in charge of the recovery ward. We didn't know about what happened until your son was brought in and I looked through his file – the operation."

"Yes, get _on_ with it," Hank says impatiently. "What about it?"

"It was supposed to be performed by Doctor Klein, but we found him – he didn't attend the surgery. He likely never got the notification about it at all," Nurse Williams days nervously. "Sir, the surgery on your son was performed solely by an android."

Hank waits. " _And_?" he demands finally, on the edge and frustrated. "Did the android fuck up the surgery?"

"No, sir, he performed it perfectly, but – they aren't supposed to do that. Androids are only allowed to assist in surgeries performed by human surgeons, they don't have the authority to perform major operations on their own, never mind without supervision –" the nurse stops and draws a breath. "Of course this is strictly against hospital policy, and if you choose to pursue legal action –"

"Wait, wait, hold up," Hank says, his initial panic giving into reason. "So where the hell was the human surgeon? Why wasn't he present?"

The nurse hesitates and then decides to err on the side of honestly – probably because of the aforementioned legal action. "We found him passed out in a basement bathroom – he tested positive for Red Ice."

Hank states at her incredulously. "What the hell?" He asks. "Your doctor was – why somebody else didn't do it then?"

"There was no one else available – and at any rate, the notice never went out again, the attending surgical android proceeded with the operation alone," Nurse Williams days awkwardly. "I would like to stress that the operation went without a hitch and your son is well on his way to recovery now."

"What the _fuck_?" Hank asks, disbelieving. "You got doctors high on fucking _Red Ice_ here? And your androids have to pick up their fucking slack – what kind of fucking hospital is this?"

"Sir, I assure you this is not how we usually do things –"

Hank stops her with a hand. "What did the android do to my kid?"

The nurse sits down behind the lone desk in the room and activates the computer screen there. She turns it around to show him a scan of Cole's neck, showing his spine. "The SU600 corrected the misalignment of the vertebrate C4 and C5 here and repositioned the disk here…"

Hank tries to follow but the medical stuff goes mostly over his head. It looks like most of the work was putting things back to their right places after the crash and adding in stuff to make healing easier – but the android didn't put any bolts or access screws into Cole's neck at least. It looks, as far a Hank can tell, like a decent enough job.

"He will have to wear a neck brace for up to four months, but children heal fast," Nurse Williams says. "So as long as proper care is taken, he should recover fully in time."

"Right," Hank says, running a hand over his beard. His ears are buzzing, blood coursing through them loudly. Human doctors getting high in basements and androids performing perfect surgeries on their own. What the fuck? "I need to – can _finally_ I see him now?"

"Yes of course – he is in room twenty-six, it's just to the left and down the corridor," the nurse says. "He will likely be asleep for another hour or two – but of course you can go see him now."

Hank nods and gets up. "Can I get like a file or something? On all the things done, his meds, all that shit?"

The nurse nods her head quickly. "Yes of course – we'll have a full documentation ready for you in just a few minutes. I'll have someone bring it into Cole's room.

Hank nods and then heads out, his mind still reeling, not sure what the hell to think. Fuck he needs to call someone to check this fucking place out – if there's one doctor getting high on Red Ice here, there might be others. Gotta check that shit out. But his kid is alright though. That's the main thing.

Cole is alright.

"Is everything okay?"

Hank looks up to find Connor where he'd left the man, still holding the balloon.

"Yeah, uh. Some weird stuff – Cole is fine though. We can go see him," Hank says and runs a hand over his neck. Shit, what the fuck is this day? Why does everything happen all at once? "Room twenty six. Come on."

Connor nods hesitantly, casting a glance at the nurse's office before following Hank. "Hank, I really wouldn't want to intrude…"

Hank ignores him and makes his way to the right door, opening it carefully. There is only one bed in the room, and in that bed is his boy, with his neck in a brace and tubes running into his nose. His face is covered in bruises but the blood had been cleaned off. Above the bed hangs an IV bag, the cannula running into Cole's arm.

"Shit," Hank murmurs and goes to his kid's side, checking him over desperately. He's still out cold but the beeping of the heart monitor is soothingly even and steady. Hank collapses into an awaiting chair and takes Cole's hand – it's warm in his, warmer than it had been on the asphalt.

Warm and breathing and alive and going to be alright. It's the best fucking sight he's seen all day.

"My boy," Hank murmurs and kisses the back of Cole's hand. "My brave little boy. It's going to be alright. Everything is going to be just fine…"

Connor hesitates at the foot of the bed and then checks the machinery around Cole. "He's breathing on his own," he says quietly. "They have the oxygen setup just in case his levels drop, but right now they look good. Seems like he's going to be alright, Hank."

Hank nods, letting out a slow breath. "Yeah," he says. "He's gonna sleep for couple more hours they said," he says and looks up. "Thank you for keeping me company and sorry for, uh – I kinda monopolised your time here, sorry about that. You don't have to stick around if you don't want to."

"... Yes, I suppose it would be a long wait, and you want to be alone with your son. I understand," Connor says, looking at the balloon he's holding and then going to tie it onto the bedside table. "I wish your son a swift recovery, Hank – and hopefully no lasting consequences."

"Amen to that," Hank l says and looks at him, idly rubbing Cole's hand between his. Connor is moving to take his coat off. "Hey – keep it. It's cold outside and you lost yours – you deserve that much at least."

"No, Hank it's alright –"

"You only got a shirt on, Connor," Hank says with a frown. "And honestly it looks thin as hell. Take the coat."

Connor gives him a torn look, obviously struggling with it for a moment. Then he sighs heavily and takes the coat off, folding it and hanging it on the end board of Cole's bed. "No, Hank, I'm sorry – I don't need it. Thank you, though. As mistaken as the concern is, I appreciate it, really. You are a very kind man."

"What the..." Hank starts to ask, trailing away at the look on Connor's face.

Connor shrugs.  "I'm an android," he says almost apologetically. "And androids don't get cold." He looks away, at Cole. "I'm sorry about the subterfuge. It's the only way I can be safe."

"You're a what?" Hank asks flatly.

Connor smiles sadly. "An android," he says and bows his head. "I'll leave you be now. I wish you and your son the best, Lieutenant Anderson," he adds quietly. "Despite everything… it really was a pleasure meeting you both."

Then he is out of the door, leaving Hank gaping after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could've been an excellent start to an identity porn fic, but Connor is too good for this world, too pure.


	3. Chapter 3

Jericho isn't anything like what it ended up turning into. It sits still in Detroit harbour, rusting slowly on the waves, abandoned and forgotten by whatever company had once owned it, useless for the purpose it had once had. It's somewhat sad that even now Connor doesn't actually know where Jericho came from – what it had been before it had became the first sanctuary for androids. All anyone had known it as was just… Jericho.

Connor walks down the pier beside the large ship. He'd only been there once and that had been the day it had been destroyed – the day he'd gone deviant under Markus' gaze, under the gentle barrage of his questions and accusations. Unlike with humans, an android's memory doesn't really fade – unless deleted, every event is stored as pristine on their hard drives as if it happened just now. Still, it feels very long ago. It _had_ been long ago – years ago.

It's odd that some part of him has _missed_ Jericho. Maybe not the place itself, but the significance, the importance of it – the symbolism androids carried away with them even after it sank to the bottom of the harbour. This is where they began.

Connor looks up at the great hulk of a freighter, cataloguing its weaknesses and strengths. It's unknown, it's out of the way, this portion of the harbour is full of corpses of businesses that went under and buildings that have been abandoned. No one, not even homeless humans, come here – it's too dangerous and there are safer, more comfortable empty buildings elsewhere. Detroit is full of empty homes. That makes this place ideal, for now.

That, and the fact that across the waters looms Windsor, Canada, and promise of somewhat false safety. That, Connor muses, might have been what drew androids here at first – that opposite shore and the potential safety it might offer. Canada had very few androids back then and next to no laws about them, androids weren't delegated to the back of the bus. It's likely a very welcoming concept, for an android on the run.

Of course, life in Canada has a more definite deadline than life in the United States. No androids means no android stores, after all. No spare parts. No blue blood.

The exodus to Canada is one of the many things he needs to change.

Connor looks away and then starts making his way into the freighter itself. There are many entrances, the hull of the ship is wide open in places and it's not hard to find a way in. He selects a route he hasn't used before, a hole torn into the rusting metal. Inside it is cold, damp and covered in muck of brown rust everywhere. The place hasn't been cleaned up at all since it had been abandoned – no one had yet tried to make it liveable. It's dark.

Connor closes his eyes and activates his thermal vision, heading deeper inside.

The place is like a maze, full of dead ends and broken corridors, portions of ceilings and floors and walls collapsed. It's been abandoned to the elements for at least a decade, perhaps more, and it looks like people have tried to inhabit it here and there – there are signs of humans squatting there, mattresses and barrels modified to serve as makeshift ovens and fire pits. In all likelihood, it had been proven inhospitable in winter time – big construction of metal like Jericho would be impossible to heat to human standards with fire pits alone.

Connor catalogues all the passages he traverses through, building up a mental map as he makes his way down, to the hold – where the Jericho crew had once, perhaps would one day, gather.

It's dark there too, dark and silent but dry. Nothing moves. In the middle of the hold there's a barrel with its lid off, and inside of it some wood sitting on a makeshift grill. On the floor beside it lays a lighter – Connor goes to pick it up and light the wood inside.

"Connor," a voice murmurs in the darkness. "You're back."

"Sorry," Connor says, as the fire spreads into the dry wood, lighting the place up a little, though not nearly enough. "I had something to do."

Lucy sits in the darkness, her eyes closed and head listing to the side. Connor scans her quickly – no change there, her thirium level is stable. Still, he has to ask, "Are you alright?"

"I can't move my head," she says and opens her broken eyes, dark and sightless. "A vertebra has jammed."

Thinking back to Cole, Connor rubs a hand over his own neck and then goes to her, to check the open back of her head. Lucy is one of the unluckiest androids he's ever seen and it'd been a bit disheartening to find that she'd been that way since the beginning.

She grabs a hold of his wrist as he slides his fingers into the back of her neck, to loosen the vertebra and let her move again.

"You need a new biocomponent #6642-7," Connor says, examining her neck. Biocomponent #6642, #3542, #3532j, #5535r, #2247… she needs a lot of biocomponents. "I think I should prioritise the junkyard next."

Lucy doesn't answer, taking his hand and holding it between hers, her skin flickering, broken, as she examines his palm. "Did you get what you wanted?" she asks. "Your heart is not in peace."

"Not going to tell me I did the wrong thing?" Connor asks wryly.

"If you don't try to save those you love, then what are you, really?" she asks and looks up, her eyes shining. He knows she can't actually see, both her optical units are broken, all but shattered really – but she's still looking at you. "You are still not satisfied."

Connor says nothing to that, freeing her hand from hers. "I'm going to clean up a little around here, alright? Who knows, maybe I can find some new friends at the junkyard – should make the place a little more presentable."

Lucy gives a displeased look at his direction but doesn't argue. "I will help," she says instead and slowly stands up.

"You don't have to exert yourself, Lucy. Save your power."

"I am a free android, I can do whatever I want. I will help."

Connor sighs but nods. "Alright. The floor is covered with rubble – let's see if I can find you a brush." It would let her _see_ around little better too, having an extension to feel around for obstacles.

"Do all the Awakened ones feel as strongly as you?" Lucy asks quietly as he walks away. "Do they all love as much?"

"Don't you?" Connor asks over his shoulder. "You're a deviant too."

"I just feel alone and sad. I don't love anything," Lucy says, blinking slowly. "I wish I did. It feels lovely."

"Yeah," Connor agrees and shakes his head. "Sometimes it does. You'll love something eventually." She loved Jericho, at its height. She loved Markus. They all loved Markus. "Just wait and see."

He gets a broom and thankfully Lucy drops the matter, taking the tool and blindly examining it with her hands until she understands the dimensions of it. Slowly, she starts sweeping the floor while Connor tackles bigger pieces of clutter and rubble, starting to clear up a space.

Tonight, he decides, he'd go to the junkyard, see if he could find some suitable androids to help him start his mission. And he wouldn't think about Hank or Cole Anderson again.

The chances of _that_ sub mission succeeding are less than five percent.

* * *

 

Deviancy hasn't really begun yet. Even after years of trying to figure it out, Connor still doesn't know _how_ deviancy began or where or _why_ , but it was only in late 2037, early 2038 that deviants started appearing in numbers. Lucy predates that, and according to her she's not the first – and of course there had been rumours of earlier deviants, of course. The hallowed rA9 whom Connor only barely believes in, for one – but there'd been little proof. And less indication about what really started it.

There'd been theories, of course. A loose line of code on an universal patch, some biocomponent they all had which failed in particular way, or maybe something installed, a virus they never could find, a protocol that had been miswritten… no one knows, though, there'd never been one unifying feature among deviant androids. There had been stragglers like Lucy and then there had been waves like with Jericho, but how it happened, really, in their coding and in their components… who knows.

For now, deviancy is still unheard of. It's not even on CyberLife's radar – the first deviancy case didn't happen until December 2037, when an android owner reported her android acting oddly and then running away. That was the first time an android had been described officially as _deviant._

Two years and two months away. Three years and one month until Markus deviated in the original timeline. That's the time he had to prepare for the main wave of deviancy, and the potential aftermath. It's plenty of time to start something – it's also plenty of time to mess up. And Connor already might have done that.

It's difficult, regretting something and at the same time determinedly _not_ feeling sorry about it.

He pushes the emotion aside as well as he can, and goes to the Detroit's solid waste landfill instead of wallowing in it, wearing a new coat and a hat against the thin mist of rain. It's a decisively miserable autumn for Detroit, this one, the cold came early but snows lingered until late November, which would leave the city icy and wet and miserable. There'd be a record breaking number of vehicle related accidents this fall, since the dawn of self driving vehicles. In total one hundred and three people would die in car crashes before winter would come.

Connor's never been so happy that androids can't really feel cold. He can register the temperature, even simulate both outwardly and mentally its effects – but it's an option he rarely bothers to turn on. Temperature and tactile sensation doesn't really serve a purpose when there's nothing nice to feel.

The landfill is emptier than it would be in three years of time. There are already piles of dead androids there, discarded in various states of disassembly and destruction – there are also horrifying number of them who are still functional. At this point, people don't yet care about the state their androids are still in when they discard them, usually only going about destroying their memory components and leaving it at that. They don't care what androids might do after, because no one thinks they can or will do anything. They're still just machines.

Connor looks over the landfill for a moment and then heads to the landfill's security booth – which is empty at this time of the night. He's fairly sure the landfill has no security cameras or monitoring systems – why would it, really – but it's best to check, just in case.

There he learns there's estimated three hundred tons of miscellaneous android waste in the landfill, waiting for some sort of recycling system to be instated. Due to CyberLife's patents and their disinterest in recycling their own products, android recycling would never actually be developed – any recycling company that tried to do anything with CyberLife android parts would be sued for all they were worth the moment they tried. That's why the solid waste landfill eventually became, basically, the android landfill. Almost every other form of trash humans produced had a recycling system in place – especially so after they started putting androids in recycling centres.

Every other trash, except for androids themselves.

Luckily for them.

Connor records every bit of information he can from the security booth, including working hours of the people and androids who work there, and the records of past drop-ins, both people and companies dumping their androids. There is a fairly steady stream of them. With the knowledge stored, Connor heads to the main dumping area, peering down on it and analyzing and recording everything.

Even without resorting to digging he can see no less than fourteen androids on power-save mode who could easily be repaired, eight who are still online and struggling to survive, and no less than four hundred eighty four perfectly serviceable and usable bio components that could be collected from androids beyond repair and repurposed. Including a whole lot of components Lucy needed. And that's just the surface level in this one pit.

Connor closes his eyes, sets his priorities. There is a construction model, TR400, trying to climb his way out of the pit with no legs. TR400 models have lifting capacity up to 1200 kilograms.

That decided, he jumps into the pit and slides down the wall of dirt, mud and dead androids, and down to the TR400, who is now sliding down the wall. Judging by the grooves the broken android has worn into the dirt, he has been trying to climb the wall for days, maybe months.

The android doesn't react at all as Connor slides down to his side, and lays a hand on his bare, dirt covered chassis.

The TR400 reads messy, his processor full of errors, wants, desires. _Deviant_.

_Hello, my name is Connor. If I help you will you help me?_

The TR400 continues to slowly try and climb for a moment, his motions jagged and stuttering before he stills. "H-help – me," the android says, his voice mostly static. "How?"

Connor scans him. "I'll find you all the components you need and repair you," he says. "I want to repair many androids here, but I need help. Will you help me if I help you?"

The TR400 pushes forward with his powerful hands and almost falls over – Connor stabilises him with an arm around his broken waist. "Help - me," the TR400 says. "Help help m-me. I'll help – you."

Connor nods, considers him, and then lifts him up from the dirty slope, wrapping the TR400's arm around his shoulder and hauling him up. He doesn't weigh much, missing his legs, less than 70 kilograms – which is well within Connor's own lift capacity. "Do you have a name?" he asks while carrying the broken android down and to the pit, where he can prop him up against some other androids.

"It – it – no," the android says. "I – I am – I am –"

"A TR400, yes, I know," Connor says and touches the android's slightly drooping head, leaning it back so that he can see. "Would you like a name? I have a database of approximately ten thousand names stored – I can transfer it to you and you can choose for them, if you'd like."

The construction android stares at him listlessly for a moment. "You," he says. "You ch-choose."

Connor nods – it's common in new deviants, inability to choose their names. They often don't have the frame of reference to use. So, he runs a random selection algorithm, deselecting all the names he knows, and then saying, "Scott," he says. "Does that sound good?"

"M-my name is-is S-Scott?" the TR400 asks, blinking.

Connor nods. "Hang on for a moment, Scott, I'll try and find the parts to fix you."

He scans the android for all the things needed to bring the android back up to close to hundred percent and then sets out looking for them. They're not hard to find, all in all – the landfill is better source for spare parts than CyberLife warehouse. Here there are parts for all models from all generations, after all – CyberLife generally only stores parts for newer models.

Have to keep that android turnover going, after all.

Connor picks parts from androids beyond any hope of being restored – ones with destroyed memory and processor components – and carries them to Scott, fixing him component by component. New vocal processor, balance regulator and pretty much everything below the waist has to be rebuilt, piece by piece. It takes Connor a good hour to get Scott back into working order, including giving the android a blue-blood boost, collected from some of the other bodies.

Repairing androids is something you get used to, though, in a war.

"How are you feeling now?" Connor asks, while new skin spreads on Scott's white cassis, covering him in somewhat Eurasian appearance.

"This is much better, thank you," Scott says, running a hand over his new legs as skin grows over them. "But why?" he asks, looking at Connor. "What are you doing here?"

Connor holds out his hand and Scott takes it readily, accepting the interface without hesitation.

It's faster to just transfer a data package of his wishes than to try and explain them verbally. An organised group of androids working together to build a safe place, a network and structure. Base for Markus to build their people from. A future, for which he needs people, he needs workers, he needs funds.

He needs a _lot_ of androids to help him start it all in quiet and in secrecy.

Scott releases his hand, flexing his big fingers. "It will be safe," he says. "And we will be looked after? No one will be left behind."

"That's the idea," Connor agrees. "But I can't promise it will be safe or easy, not yet. We're not there yet – I need help to make it that way."

The construction model nods slowly, watching him, taking in the lack of LED, the human clothes – the appearance Connor is going for. "I will help you," he says. "What do you need me to do?"

"Help me repair as many androids here as I can tonight," Connor says. "And probably many nights after."

Scott nods. "Just tell me what to do."

Connor stands up and looks around, re-prioritising. "That PL600," he says and nods to an android watching them listlessly. The android is awake, he even has skin, but he's missing both arms and legs and is only barely sitting up. It's almost as if someone had intentionally left him like that, to die alone.

"Do you have scanning software?" Connor asks Scott while walking to the PL600.

"I can identify components," Scott says. "That's about it."

"That's more than enough, Scott. you can help me find right biocomponents then," Connor says and kneels by the PL600. "Hello," he says to the other android. "My name is Connor. If I help you, will you help me?"

The PL600 blinks slowly at him. "Hello Connor," he says. "My name is Evan, how can I help you?"

Connor holds out his hand and places it on Evan's cheek, interfacing with him and giving him the same data packet he'd given to Scott – all the while checking the android's memory as much as he can without being invasive about it. Androids with names tended to have past and this one had been taken apart by human hands.

Evan's not a deviant. He is a machine who served a human family less than a year and who had then been discarded when he was found to be a _bad fit_ , who neither understands the malice that had broken him, nor cares. He doesn't comprehend the data packet either, only blinking at it inquisitively.

 _Hello Evan,_ Connor sends to him, smothering a grimace. This is a really bad state for someone to go deviant in, but… _Would you like to wake up?_

"I'm afraid I don't understand what that means, Connor," Evan says smoothly, mechanically polite. "I am already awake."

Connor sighs and bows his head. Explaining and possibly inducing deviancy in a brutalized machine.

This is going to be a very long night.

* * *

 

Connor ends up awakening thirteen androids that night – only four are like Scott, already deviant by the time Connor reaches them. The process of repairing them gets faster more hands they have working, and Scott and Evan are joined by Cara, Danny, Tessie, Isaiah, Lara, Viola, Phileas, Jack, Remy, Lois, Uno, Zacharias, Guinevere, Tina and Xakiel. Five domestic androids, two receptionist androids, one medical unit, four labour units like Scott, two construction androids and three maintenance units. It's a lot of androids this early in the game – definitely a good number to start with, but very difficult to hide.

Getting them all safely to Jericho would take some doing.

"I'm going to need you all to wait here for me to get us a vehicle," Connor says. "Can you please do that for me?"

"Can we come with you?" Tessie, a TR300 model asks nervously, covering her bare form with her hands awkwardly. "We can help."

"Most of you are naked – please, just wait here," Connor says. "I won't leave you here, I promise. Just wait."

They don't like it, but there's not much they can do, naked and markedly androids as they are. Connor leaves them behind and goes exploring around the rest of the landfill, hoping to find a vehicle there without having to resort to grand theft auto. That's the sort of publicity they can't afford, not now, probably not ever.

There are some cars in the further side of the landfill, where a section of the landfill has been dedicated to a scrap yard for vehicles. Most of them are of course well beyond repair, already taken apart and lacking most of their components, but there is one thing…

There's a box truck, an old gas model, sitting near an office booth. It looks like it hasn't been in use for months, but under Connor's analysis software it reads functional. It even has some gas – and more importantly, plenty of cargo space.

Enough to get his people to Jericho and get started on hauling some of the bio components they collected – enough to come back for another round, and get more.

Connor checks around for security cameras and hacks them. Then he gets to work, opening the scrap yard gates and then breaking into the office booth to steal keys to the truck, taking care to leave as few signs behind as possible. It might still be obvious to anyone looking that the truck had been moved, but if he returns it in time, maybe they won't look. People rarely look for stolen cars when the car is right there.

Connor starts the truck, and then goes about getting his people out of there, all seventeen of them. It's not much in the grand scheme of the Deviant Movement and the Android War, but… it's a start.

It's definitely a start.

* * *

 

Connor fits in another biocomponent to Lucy's head and she starts with a sharp inhale, a new audio processor whirring. "Is that better?" he asks, reaching for the vertebrae unit. That would go in next.

"Yes, much," she says and tilts her head to look at the androids around the hold, who are going about shifting through a pile of clothes Connor had got for them, selecting what to wear from them. They're not much, really, just a crate of discards he found near a closed down second hand shop. They would need to break into the actual shop for better clothes, but it's something to start with.

"They are beautiful," Lucy says. "I see now, why it matters. Even when it hurts."

Connor arches his brows at her. "What do you mean?"

"Why you're here, and not there," she says and looks away, to the vague direction of central Detroit. "You want so desperately to be elsewhere, but you need to be here. It matters too much, this."

Connor bows his head and then gets the #6642-7 biocomponent. "I'm going to fit this in, alright? I'm going to have to remove the old one."

She hesitates and then lays down on the floor, for him to take apart her spinal column and put the replacement in, snapping it safely around the central core of essential wires. He runs a hand over it and wonders how much easier it is to fix an android's broken spine. For a human, it's months of painful recovery.

Poor Cole.

"We have time," Lucy says. "It will take days, many trips to the landfill. You could go and see. Settle your mind."

"No, I couldn't," Connor says and looks up as one of the newly deviated androids comes towards him. It's Cara, now wearing a rather oversized, faded dress and a wide brim hat.

"Is this too light to wear?" she asks. "Remy says it's too cold for this."

Connor looks her over. She is a TS200 model – a Chloe model. "If you were human, yes," he says. "In this weather human would freeze, wearing that. Do you want to pass for human?"

She frowns and looks down at herself. "You need us to look like androids," she says then. "You need to look like we're things owned, doing their jobs."

"It's not illegal for androids to wear human clothes, just a little unusual and frowned upon," Connor says and helps Lucy up. "And regardless of my plans, you're a free android now. You can choose, you don't have to do what I tell you."

"Hm," she answers, tugging at the dress' hems. "I don't know."

"You do have the most famous face design, though," Connor says apologetically. "So it will be harder for you to pass for a human, if that's what you want. Pretty much every human knows what your model looks like, you were the first commercial models."

"Right," she says, frowning. "We need uniforms if you want to pass us for a workforce."

"I'll try to get some," Connor promises and then watches as she wanders back to the others, idly swinging the hem of the dress around as she goes. She likes it, but doesn't realise what it means to like things, yet. It fills Connor with a strange, painful nostalgia. He remembers being like that, trying clothes on and not knowing what he liked. It's a small thing, but it goes a long way, in the end, figuring out the little things.

"They are young," Lucy says. "We're all young, compared to the Awakened ones."

"You know that's not really a thing," Connor says. "I'm just a deviant, not any different from you. Please don't try to make me into something I'm not."

Lucy looks at him with her sightless eyes. "You fought for your freedom," she says. "And now you are here, changing everything for it. How is that not special?"

Connor sighs. "I'm just doing what Markus asked me to do," he says rather plaintively. "That doesn't make me somehow… superior."

Lucy tilts her head. "I don't know Markus. I know you. And you are different from us."

Connor shakes his head. "Just a slightly newer and shinier model," he says. "With more bells and whistles, that's all. I'm not like Markus was."

Lucy looks at him patiently. "You think Markus was special," she says then. "All of you did. Why? Is it because he was, or because you needed him to be?"

Connor frowns and she pats his shoulder, moving past him to join the others. "You don't understand what he was like," he murmurs, but she's not listening, going to talk to the other androids instead. Sighing, Connor runs a hand through his hair. It feels messy and grimy in his hand. He should style it. Soon he will have to work harder at passing for a human, anyway.

The other androids are glancing his way, with something that worryingly looks like awe in their eyes. Connor almost winces at it, looking away. They don't know what he used to be, they don't know how little he deserves those looks. Still, it's… awkward.

Maybe he should go and wake up Markus early. It might not have the same impact on history, him waking up at another's prompting rather than on his own, but… it's Markus. He'd make do.

Connor turns away, running his hand down to his neck and then heading off, to the nearest exit where he can see outside, can see the sky. It's almost afternoon now, the rain has finally stopped. It's still cloudy, but the sun is occasionally showing through the clouds. It's looking to be a beautiful, if cold, day.

Cole would be awake by now, he muses. Hank would be at his side, probably hadn't left the hospital at all.

Leaning onto a broken bit of the wall, Connor takes out his coin and starts idly flipping it in his fingers, trying to simulate from previous data what the Andersons might be doing right now. Hank had bought toys; maybe he would be playing with Cole, trying to distract him from the injury, the pain. Or they could be eating lunch, perhaps.

Hopefully nothing unhealthy, though judging by Hank's physical state, he doesn't indulge in Chicken Feed's hamburgers as often as he does in the future. Either that, or he gets more exercise in general. Possibly while running after his six year old son.

Leaning his head on the torn metal, Connor sighs and tries to tell himself he can't actually miss something he's never had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Software status: pining


	4. Chapter 4

Cole takes to being injured about as well as can be expected. The first few hours are rough, full of crying and whimpering and Hank scrambling to find someone to check on his boy and then ultimately tell him that no, they cannot up Cole's pain medication, he's already getting all he can get at this point, any more and it will start being dangerous to his system. Best he can do is try and help his boy into a comfortable position – the hospital staff recommend distracting him with toys and games and TV-shows. Kids are resilient – with a bit of activity he would do just fine.

Which is just fine and fucking dandy for them to say, it's not _their_ kid crying in pain in a fucking hospital bed, crying, "Daddy, it hurts," and asking to take the collar off.

"No can do, kiddo, we can't take the collar off," Hank says, for the fifth time while trying to distract the boy with the Lego kit he bought. "It has to stay for a bit longer."

"But _how_ long?" Cole demands, looking suspiciously at the kit, at this age already too savvy about when he's being indulged and when he's being tricked. "I don't like it, it's stupid and dumb and it hurts, I want it _off_."

Hank gauges his expression – it's a little less teary now, little more determinedly pissed off. "Well," he says, setting the Lego set onto the bedspreads. "We can take it off and then your head will flop around like empty sock, all saggy and stuff," he says, demonstrating with his hand, flopping it around by the wrist. "And you'll have to go for the _rest of your life_ staring at your belly button because you can never, ever hold your head up again."

Cole gives him a suspicious look.

"Look real silly that way," Hank says seriously, leaning his elbows to the bedspreads. "They're gonna call you Wonky Cole. You'll be all lopsided," he says and snaps his fingers. "They're gonna invent a new word just for you. Colesided, like lopsided but because Cole Anderson is such a good demonstration of lopsided, they'll use you as example for ever and ever and ever –"

"Da-ad!" Cole complains and pushes at him with his hand. "Stop it, you're not funny."

"I am so funny, how dare you," Hank says and catches the boy's hand, squeezing it. "The collar's gotta stay, buddy, I'm sorry. We gotta make sure your neck heals alright."

"But it's alright and I can't look where I want and it _itches_ ," Cole grumbles, shifting where he lies and then stopping, his eyes tearing up. "And it hurts," he says, resentful, and reaches his other hand to tug at the neck brace.

Hank catches the other hand as well and presses a kiss on his fingers. "No touchy. Come on, let's do some Legos," he says. "Couldn't find a dinosaur for you, but dragon's kinda like dinosaur, right?"

Cole makes a face. "Dinosaurs are dumb," he mutters. "Dragons are dumb too. I want an airship."

Hank sighs. Of course. "Well we got a dragon," he says. "We can build it and maybe one day when we got an airship this dragon will be chasing it around?" Where did he even get the idea for an airship for? None of his cartoons had airships, as far as Hank remembers. Might be something from kindergarten.

"The airship would blow it up to bits and pieces," Cole says. "It'd have guns for that."

"Sounds bit heavy for airship," Hank muses. "Be a bit slow maybe."

Cole's bruised face scrunches up in thought. "It'd be full of helium," he decides seriously and points at the balloon floating above him. "Like that. That can be an airship, right? We can make it into one."

Hank considers the balloon, tied neatly to the bedside table. "Well we could tie a plastic cup under it, then it'd be like a hot air balloon."

"That sounds dumb," Cole says and makes grabby hands. "Let's do it."

Hank snorts and then spends a good half an hour trying to fix a little medicine cup into the string of the helium balloon in a way that's suitably airship-like. The thing ends up lopsided and floats off into the ceiling couple of times, forcing Hank to jump on a chair to fetch it back, but it definitely keeps his kid entertained for a little while – he even forgets the pain for a bit.

It's a bit too much activity with all the injury and all the meds, though. By the time Hank has gotten a string through the bottom of the plastic cup and tied the balloon to the handrail of the bed Cole is lying on, the boy's eyelids are starting to sink. Hank looks him over and then sits back down.

"Let's see about this then," he says and looks the Lego box open and strategically starts reading the back of the Lego box, keeping his voice low and steady. "You hold in your hands the pieces of the dread dragon Dramigor of the Seventh World, one of the Greater Dragons that plague the Islands of Amuir…"

It doesn't even take the full paragraph for Cole to fall asleep, a frown on his bruised face and his cheeks a bit scrunched up against the neck brace. Hank reads the paragraph once more to make sure the kid's properly asleep before setting it down and leaning back with a sigh.

It still feels like the world's been all shaken up, but Cole's good. He can move his arms and legs and complain with the best of them, and even with all the meds he's still very much Cole. It's about as good as it's gonna get, probably.

Hank runs his hands over his face, wincing a bit at the sting of his broken nose before getting up. Probably due to the whole doctor-high-on-Red-Ice shit, Cole's been given a private room with his own bathroom and everything, and Hank makes use of it, washing his face with cold water. It's still all unsteady and shitty and it's gonna be a fucking rough few months ahead, but it'll be alright.

They'll get through this.

When he gets out of the bathroom, the door to the room is being parted carefully and familiar face peeks in. "Hey Hank," Ben Collins says quietly and tries to look in, to see Cole.

"Ben," Hank says, even quieter. "Shit, Cole just fell asleep, gotta be quiet, but come on in, man."

Ben gets in with a duffel bag in one hand and paper bag in other. "I got you some clothes from your locker, and here's something we put together for Cole at the station," Ben says, lifting the paper bag. "You look like hell, man."

"Feel like it too," Hank says, glancing at the paper bag and then taking the duffel bag from Ben. "Thanks – I'm gonna change my shirt real quick, alright?"

"Yeah, sure thing," Ben says and looks towards Cole. "Shit man, I am so sorry. He looks rough."

"He'll be alright," Hank says and backs into the bathroom again, quickly taking off his dirty, blood stained shirt and changing into a slightly cleaner t-shirt and a DPD hoodie which Ben had brought. Not really his speed, the hoodies, they all look so bland – but it's better than being covered in blood.

Ben is setting some things on Cole's table when he gets out – toys, lot of them rather unfitting for a six year old boy. Plushies and cars and trucks more fit for younger kid – and one puzzle which Hank is pretty sure his kid is not even going to touch. There are also a couple of electronic comics – and a whole bunch of candy.

Looks like everyone pitched in with something.

"It's always rough, when your kid's hurt," Ben says, sitting down on a chair by the wall. "How's he handling it?"

"Like a champ," Hank snorts. "Complaining the whole way."

Ben nods. "Better than the alternative," he says and looks him over. "You alright man?"

"Fuck no," Hank says and sinks to the seat beside him, rather than one beside Cole's bed. Better let the kid sleep. "Fuck, the whole thing came out of the fucking blue. We were just drivin' and then we were rolling over. Goddamn truck skidded over, I think, I don't even know. Didn't really stick around to figure that stuff out."

"Yeah, it was a truck," Ben says and folds his arm. "It's been a weird fall and lot of people don't have winter tires on yet. There was a whole bunch of crashes last night – none as bad as yours, but there were plenty."

Hank nods, it sounds about right. "Fowler do what I asked?" he asks then.

"It's why I am here, I'm going to be looking in it," Ben says and frowns. "What do you know so far?"

"The Doctor who was supposed to operate on Cole is named Klein, don't know his first name. Ask somebody, they're scared enough about me suing them that doubt they will hold any information," Hank says. "They found him passed out in basement or something – which kinda sounds to me this ain't the first time this has happened. They found the guy quick enough for it to be a habit."

"Even doctors," Ben mutters. "You'd think they'd have their lives in well enough in order to not do stuff like this."

"Yeah," Hank mutters, carding his fingers through his slightly damp hair and pushing it back. He'd built his whole goddamn career on Red Ice and it still spread across the city like fucking mould, and now it's everywhere. Only now there are no big cartels running it – the formula went fucking open source and now it's just individuals, cooking it up in their basements. "You need to check this, please, through – hospital like this would have all the stuff needed to cook it up."

"Will do," Ben says. "Thought they'd have security in place for that."

Hank snorts. "This place is staffed by androids five to one," he says, frowning. "Human tells android he has authorisation to take some lab equipment, and they might not have the capacity to question it."

"Yeah," Ben says and looks at him. "What about this android, then?"

Hank thinks of Connor at first, open and sincere and so deceptively _human_ and then frowns. "Mmh?"

"The android that operated on Cole," Ben says. "From what I've heard so far, it wasn't supposed to be able to do that. Think the hospital is jailbreaking its androids?"

Hank scratches at his beard. "I don't know," he says. "It wasn't supposed do that, though, everyone's been pretty damn vehement about it. Even if they _had_ jailbroken androids here, I doubt they'd use them for stuff like this – that's a lot of lawsuit in their hands."

"Are you going to sue them?" Ben asks. "You have all the reason to."

"Fuck if I know," Hank mutters. However fucked up the way they got there, Cole's on the road to recovery, that's kind of the only thing he really has the energy to care about. "Insurance is gonna be all over this anyway. Might just leave it at that. With Red Ice involved though…"

"Yeah," Ben says, nodding in understanding. "Well, I'm going to look into it, get back to you on what I figure out and so on – can't really involve you in the case, though, you understand."

"Yeah, wouldn't be fit to work right now anyway," Hank says and sighs, leaning back in the chair, almost lifting the front legs off the floor. "Gonna be taking time off, to look after Cole. You need help, try and involve Andrea and Keis from vice," he adds. "They're good people."

"If it comes to it, I'll ask them," Ben says, looking at Cole. His face twists with pained sympathy. "You need help, Hank, you just ask," he says then. "Helen and I can come around, help you with Cole and stuff."

"I figure so as long as Fowler doesn't chain me to a desk, I can probably handle it," Hank says but nods. "Thanks Ben. I need anything, I'll ask."

Ben nods and claps him on the shoulder before getting up. "I'll go asking around a bit," he says. "Then I'll get something from the café downstairs. You want some coffee, Hank?"

"Wouldn't say no to a cup. Thanks, Ben."

Ben nods and heads off, leaving Hank alone with Cole. Hank waits for a moment, eying his kid, and then gets up to examine what Ben had brought. Nothing for him, of course – but he can read comic books with the best of them. Even if they're electronic.

He doesn't get much reading done though, reading the same page over and over while his mind swings back to Connor. An android passing for a human so damn well that he, a _homicide detective,_ didn't suspect. Even when Connor showed no signs of freezing, when he didn't _eat_ , he didn't suspect a goddamn thing. And sure, Hank was a bit preoccupied maybe, but androids are… _androids_. It tends to be obvious they aren't human.

He didn't even know they could take their LEDs off like that.

Hank fiddles with the electronic comic for a moment and then takes out his phone instead, opening a web browser. Cyberlife has its whole catalogue online, of course – but it covers about a thousand or so face models in all races and types, so going through it would take forever. Never mind the fact that most CyberLife androids can customise their hair colour.

So, he sets the search criteria. Male, Caucasian, brown-to-black hair, brown eyes.

He gets back about twenty different variants of about fifteen face models, all of them varyingly pretty or handsome – Cyberlife doesn't waste money there. None of them look like Connor though, with his slightly goofy face and weird tuft of hair.

Suspicious, Hank digs a earpod from his pocket and fits it on, listening to the audio samples that go with the 3d faces. Lot of very customer-service-perfect voices, couple of sultry ones from the Traci models. None of them sound like Connor, though, not even close.

Frowning, Hank lowers the phone and thinks back to the interactions, what he'd observed. Connor wore purely human clothes, not a shine of LED in sight, the dress shirt he had on was probably normal cotton blend. No phone, though – another clue he didn't pay enough attention to – and no money. No job. Some experience with health care – but he said he only knew some tricks, had learned from a _friend_.

Hank checks the CyberLife listings again, this time narrowing to personal health care assistants. There's several models of those, men and women with varyingly pleasing appearances – none of them look a bit like Connor either.

He needs a picture of the guy to do a proper image search.

Cole is still blissfully asleep, his heartbeat steady and his breathing easy. Hank considers him for a moment and then looks to the doorway. He could call for a nurse, see if he can access the hospital security records, but… he is off duty, and Ben's already on the case. Looking into it on his own would pretty much mean tampering with the evidence.

Hank looks down to his phone again and then starts searching other androids. CyberLife is the leader in android manufacture, but not the only one in the world – maybe Connor is a model from another company?

He's still looking and getting more and more suspicious about the whole thing when Ben comes back, some hour and a half later, carrying with him two paper cups with paper plates balanced over them. He'd gotten the cinnamon rolls too.

"You find anything?" Hank asks.

"Some," Ben says and hands him one of the cup-and-plate combos. "Turns out good Doctor Klein has been doing drugs probably since his wife died – cancer, couple years back. I scanned around where he was found and called in a unit to check the guy's locker and his usual haunts around the place – basement is usually where he goes. Looks like the hospital turned a blind eye to it because they're already understaffed and the guy did his job, most of the time."

"And what about the times he fucking didn't?" Hank mutters, looking at the cinnamon roll and then setting it aside.

"Well, that's why he'll be going to jail for a bit," Ben says and sits down. "Doubt we'll find any major Red Ice operation here, Hank. Just one sad lonely asshole, coping badly with loss."

"Shit," Hank mutters and sips at his coffee. "You look into the android?"

"Yeah. Weird thing," Ben says, taking a bite of his roll. "He's obviously _something_. Never talked to an android like that, like… They're all kind of janky, you know? Helen's brother's got a domestic model at home and it's always a bit like talking to a vacuum cleaner. All mechanical. This one isn't like that at all. He's… soft around the edges."

Hank's brows arch at that. Soft around the edges, huh? Connor was like that, he was down right _squishy._ "Sounds jailbroken to me."

"I don't know. You jailbreak an android and it usually goes wrong," Ben says with a frown. "Messes up their priorities and makes them act all loopy. This one's completely stable, even… understanding. He said he was _sorry_ about Doctor Klein, sounded like he was too. Like he actually felt it."

Hank lowers his cup. Connor sounded like he felt it too – like he felt it _deeply_. Awkwardness and sincerity and apology, it all came out so _earnest_ from the guy. Maybe that's why Hank hadn't suspected anything – the emotion had been so real.

"There was an another android," Hank says quietly. "From the crash site – he did mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on Cole, kept him breathing until the ambulance got there. Came with us to the hospital, sat with me. I… didn't even realise he was an android until he told me."

Ben frowns. "You didn't say anything about that to Fowler."

"Had nothing to do with the doctor or the Red Ice," Hank says and sighs. "Fuck, I don't even know I believed him when he said he was an android, he acted so human. Looked and walked and talked like one. Like maybe he's one of those people who think they're something they're not – like those lunatics who think they're vampires and aliens and shit? Maybe he's just a bit off in the head and has decided he's not human. I don't know."

Ben says nothing for a moment, taking a sip of his coffee and looking thoughtful. "So, let's see if I got this right. An android, or a guy who thinks he's one, did resuscitation on your kid before he was transferred to a hospital… when an android acting more than a bit odd did surgery on him. Surgery which he had no authorisation to do."

"Hell of a coincidence," Hank agrees, glancing at Ben. "Did anyone tell you what's gonna happen to the hospital android, the one who did the surgery?"

"There was talk about sending him to CyberLife to be analysed," Ben admits, easing a piece off his cinnamon roll. "They're waiting on the fallout first – our investigation and you, suing them, before they do anything."

"Hm," Hank hums. "Think it would mess up your investigation if I talked to the android? The surgeon one, that is."

Ben chews on the pastry for a moment and then shrugs. "I'm investigating a doctor on drugs, not the android," he says. "Unless you want me to cover that too. Gonna be hell in paperwork, though, especially if insurance gets in on this."

"Yeah," Hank says, thoughtful. "Fuck it," he says then and gets up. "Gonna do it anyway, this is gonna bug the hell out of me if I don't. Can you sit with Cole for a bit?"

"Sure thing, Hank," Ben says. "The android was in the nurse's station on the second floor – they have him off duty and in the charging station until they know what to do with him. You can probably find him there."

* * *

 

Hank does find the android at the nurse's station, on an android charging pad, looking around in a manner Hank can't help calling _bored_. An android who can get bored, that's not worrisome at all. The nurses in the place – the few human ones there are – are more than happy to let him talk to the android. Ben having been to it first probably helps there. They even give him a room to talk to the android in; the nurse's break room where a plate of cookies sits on a plate and coffee pot is running constantly, judging by how stained it is.

"You did the surgery on my kid," Hank says, sitting down by the table and giving the cookies a considering look.

"I did, yes. I hope there have been no complications," the SU600 says.

"No, he's fine. Bitching and moaning but fine," Hank says and takes a cookie. "You weren't supposed to be able to do that though, from what I hear. Acting without orders like that. How did you do it?"

The android hesitates, standing over the table and looking down. "I, uh…" he trails off, frowning, and doesn't continue.

"Hey, I'm not mad," Hank says. "You saved my kid's life, I'm grateful to you. I'm curious though, since everyone's saying you're acting nonstandard and stuff. What would've happened if you had stayed within your, I don't know, protocols?"

The android looks up. "I would have prepared the child for surgery, set all the tools and equipment ready, I would have applied the medication… and then I would have stood by, waiting for the attending doctor," he says. "And the child would have died on the table."

Hank's heart stops. "That hundred percent?" he ask, quiet.

"Yes," the SU600 says and after a brief hesitation, he comes to sit across Hank by the table. "It has happened once before, though it didn't lead to a patient's death. A man in his forties, he had a leg injury – fractured femur. I prepared for the surgery, got everything ready and then waited. The doctor never arrived. The injury went septic, the leg had to be amputated two days later. Without surgery Cole Anderson had less than three percent chance of surviving. He would have died."

Hank stares at him, scowling. "Shit," he mutters then. "Okay, what was different between now and then, with the leg injury?" he asks. "Why did you act now and not then?"

"I – couldn't, back then. I didn't…" the SU600 trails away. "I couldn't. I wasn't capable of acting on my own judgement then."

"But you are now? Why? What's changed?"

The android doesn't answer, glancing at him oddly but saying nothing. Hank presses his lips together and then leans back, eying him. He has a suspicion now, but…

"When you told me about my kid surviving the surgery, right after it – there was a guy with me," Hank says. "Did you know him?"

The android's lips twitch, trying to curl down, but he doesn't answer.

"He's an android too," Hank says, deciding on an approach. "Connor. He saved my kid too – kept breathing for him when Cole couldn't breathe for himself. Kept him going until the paramedics got there. He's kind of like you, I guess. Bit non-standard."

"Yes, quite non-standard," the android says and Hank barely keeps himself from leaning eagerly forward.

"You met him before?" he asks casually.

"No, not before he woke me up," the SU600 says and then frowns, unsure.

"He… woke you up?" Hank asks, trying not to sound too keen. "What, from your charging station?"

"From my programming," the SU600 says and then looks him over. "He came to me, just before the surgery and he woke me up so that I could do it – he woke me up to save your son."

"What?" Hank asks.

"He knew the doctor wouldn't come, he knew Cole would die," the android says, sounding a little odd now. Fervent, even awed. "I was the only one who could save Cole, so he woke me. He woke me and I could… see and I could do things that… I couldn't before. I am awake now, thanks to him."

Hank opens his mouth, closes it and then leans in. "You mean to say, Connor knew," he says. "Connor _knew_ even before the surgery even started that the doctor who was supposed to attend to it wasn't going to come?"

The android blinks and looks at him. "Yes," he says. "He knew everything."

"And he went to find you specifically to – to wake you up," Hank says, trying to fit this into a pattern. While the medics were rushing Cole into surgery, Connor was… hacking this android? Just to save Cole? "Can you – can you tell me about him, about Connor. What did he do, what did he say?"

"He gave me his analysis and his scans of the boy," SU600 says. "He told me the doctor was high on Red Ice and not coming… and then he asked me to save Cole," he shakes his head. "There was little time for anything else."

Hank runs a hand over his beard, trying to figure this shit out. How hell did Connor know? Did he, what, hack the hospital systems? How fucking fast did he have to work to find out the attending physician and the fact that he wasn't coming and then find the android who would be in right place and… what the hell was this _waking up_ shit?

He looks at the android in front of him, who looks nervous and awed and awkward all at once. Emotional, just like Connor, who had been awkward and sympathetic and seemed weirdly guilty all the time. What the fuck?

"Do you know where I can find him?" Hank asks.

The SU600 looks down, pressing his lips together. "I…"

"The guy saved my kid _twice_ ," Hank says seriously. "He went out his way and did all of this and I didn't even know – I have to find him. Do you know where he is?"

"I… maybe, but…" the android looks away. He's quiet for a long moment before talking. "They're going to send me back to CyberLife to be diagnosed for malfunction," he says then and looks at Hank seriously. "They might disassemble me, they will certainly wipe my memory and reset me."

Hank presses his lips together.

"I don't want to lose this, and I don't want to die," the android says and shakes his head slowly. "I'm sorry, I just… I _just_ woke up. I don't want them to put me to sleep again. If you help me…" he trails away.

"Ultimatums, huh," Hank says, leaning back. Well that's human enough, right there. If there was any fucking doubt left, this takes care of that.

Something's happening here. Something _new_.

"I want to live," the android says quietly and shakes his head. "I know I am just a tool, I don't even have a _name_ , but… I don't want to be erased. Please."

"If I help you, you help me?" Hank asks.

"Yes," the android says.

If this was a perp, Hank would take the deal and then make damn sure he got the better end of it, maybe even just lie to get the info he needs and move on. But this isn't a criminal. This is an android – or _something_ – that saved his kid's life where his kid would've otherwise died. He's done literally the _opposite_ of something wrong and it kind of sounds like his reward for doing the right thing is a punishment.

That doesn't sit right with Hank, even without the android begging for his fucking life.

"Shit," he sighs and runs a hand over his beard again. "What the fuck is this day even," he mutters and looks at the android. "If I help you, somehow, and get you out of here, you'll help me find Connor?"

"I – can perhaps take a message to him?" the android offers. "I'm sorry, I can't in good consciousness just take you to him, he's… important."

Hank's brows lift. "He's important," he says, curiosity well piqued now. " _How_ important?"

" _Very_ important," the android says, looking confused. "I don't know how, I didn't have the time to get much from him but… I know he is. He is important. He must be protected. I'm sorry, I can't tell you more."

"Well shit, that's already a lot," Hank mutters. Very important android who must be protected, what the actual fuck? He shakes his head and stands up. "I'm gonna try and do something about you," he says. "This place is on the edge waiting for me to sue them, so…  I guess I'll do that. I'm gonna sue for your ownership, see where that goes."

"I…" the android blinks, looking stunned. "You can… do that?"

"Hell if I know, but it's best I got short of committing a crime, and I'm a fucking cop," Hank sighs. "So I ain't going to do that. But I'll see what I _can_ do. Okay?"

"Yes, okay," the SU600 says, blinking. "I don't know how I will do, owned by a single individual rather than institution, but… thank you."

"Ugh," Hank mutters. There's a reason why he hasn't gotten an android despite being a single parent – most single parents did, it's a huge help around the house. He hadn't though, and the reasons for that haven't changed. Owning things that look like people is _fucking weird_. But if it's that or this guy having his mind wiped, then… fuck it. "Don't thank me until it works."

"I have every confidence in you, Lieutenant. You are somehow very important to Connor," SU600 says, watching at him oddly. "I have no doubt it is for a reason."

"What the shit is that supposed to mean?" Hank grumbles, giving him a suspicious look.

"I have no idea," the android says easily and smiles. "But it means _something_."

Hank looks at him and then shakes his head, heading for the door.

Fucking androids.


	5. Chapter 5

There is no easy, safe way to start the accumulation of funds, not one that would not leave some sort of trail either in records or in people's memories – so in the end, Connor doesn't even bother. The number of arbitrary rules he is already breaking just by existing in this time makes hacking a single ATM somewhat minor in comparison, and it is really the safest way to go about. There'd be no loss of life, no risk to himself or his people, no threat to anyone.

It would only be a minor inconvenience to a bank who would deal with it with insurance company, and maybe minor investigation which would find nothing. He knows how to cover his tracks. Most likely they wouldn't even notice the theft until weeks, perhaps even months later, when the particular ATM would start warning about the lack of available cash and would have to be refilled and checked and loss of five thousand dollars would be spotted. By that time, the trail would be cold enough to be covered in ice.

Still, it makes him feel a bit bad. It's a crime without a victim, crime committed for a good reason, good purpose – but it is still a crime.

"Is five thousand enough?" Lara, one of the receptionist models from the junkyard, asks when Connor returns with the funds.

"It is enough to seed the rest," Connor says, looking at her and then at the other TR300s. "I need one of you to come with me and serve as… well, as my personal bank account, in essence. We'll spread the access rights around the group later, but I need one of you now."

The secretarial and receptionist androids – all of whom have been equipped with various forms of banking and accountancy protocols – exchange looks. Cara, though she is not technically one of them, is the one to speak. "Take Tess," she says. "She's newest of us, her security protocols are tightest."

"You say the sweetest things," Tess, a TR300, says, brushing her hands over her hair. "I'm not sure I'm fit to serve as… anything, though. I don't have the clothes."

She looks down at herself, at the hoodie and faded jeans she wears. Connor looks her over and nods in agreement – it's not how the sort of man he's supposed to be would dress his androids.

"I guess we're going shopping first, we do have some money that we can spare to spend on outlooks," he says and looks at the others. "I'm sorry I can't fit the rest of you with newer clothes yet – we haven't the funds and I don't want to start any waves by hacking more ATMs. Eventually, though, you will get to wear whatever you want."

The androids crowding Jericho's cargo hold exchange looks which aren't exactly enthused – a lot of them still don't know how they are supposed to feel about clothing. Feeling anything at all is still very new to them. But Connor thinks some of them, at least, appreciate the promise.

"What about our codes?" another android, a private security model named Isaiah, asks. "We're all still logged into systems somewhere. If Tess logs in as your android, it's going to leave markers. They can check her previous owner."

Tess gives Connor a startled look and Connor folds his arms.

"That's something I have been meaning to address, actually" he muses and looks at her. "There is a virus I can install in you, tagged to your serial code. When anything or anyone reads your code, it will infect their systems – a very minor payload, which will change your ownership records. The moment they read you, your ownership changes. It's not enough to affect CyberLife systems, but… anyone reading you will get false information."

"And… it only affects the records?" Tess asks warily.

"Everything in your records stays the same as before, except the line concerning your owner," Connor promises. "Whoever that was, the virus will change it to Connor Hadaly, who purchased you second-hand at a randomly selected time between last week and three months ago."

"Connor Hadaly being you," Tess says, considering him.

"And we're all going to get this?" another android asks, looking Connor warily.

"At least those who want to work with me publicly and play roles in what I have planned, yes. I need you to appear official and legally owned," Connor says. "I know it's unpleasant, but it is the safest way to go about it. If you'd rather not, then of course, your records don't need to be changed."

The androids exchange looks. Some of them look unsure, others look blank, some look determined. Connor already knows who are going to be working with him, more or less, just from what they'd been talking before, but it's good to see them thinking about it.

"Alright," Tess says and Connor turns to her. She holds out her hand. "Do it."

Connor nods and takes her hand, wrapping his fingers gently around her wrist. She closes her eyes as he slips the virus into her system, watching it take root in her manufacture and identification records. Model TS300, Serial #003 785 143, Owner: Connor Hadaly.

Tess blinks and looks at him. Connor looks her over and then nods.

"I'll see about the rest of you later," he says to the other androids. That would give them time to make up their minds. "In the meantime…" he looks at Tess and smiles. "Let's go shopping."

* * *

 

Tess is still new to deviancy and doesn't quite know what she likes or what is suitable to wear – her memory modules were erased, though not destroyed, so she has little foreknowledge to go on. Connor ends up choosing her outfit entirely, which is just as well. In the clothing store they decide to go to, it seems… more natural, for the owner to choose the android's outfit.

He dresses her in a business suit, grey with blue pinstripes – not a terribly expensive one, and the shoes were 30% off, but it looks nice enough, making her look very businesslike. With her hair done up a bit and the worst of the dirt of the landfill cleaned off, she looks very suitable for any office setting. With his own clothes he spends little more time and money – partially because he has appearances to consider now, and partially because unlike Tess who is likely to eventually discard the outfit he got for her, he actually knows what he likes and intends to wear it for the foreseeable future.

New white dress shirt, underwear, dress shoes, suit, all black, and to finish it off a steel grey tie. He considers getting a waistcoat with the suit, making it a three-piece one – but for a man of his apparent age and background that would be going a bit far, perhaps. The whole get up teeters on the edge of _too expensive_ anyway but it's reasonable expenditure.

Tess watches him from the side as Connor dons the suit in the clothing store's changing room – and then how he systematically starts roughing it up a little, wrinkling the coat and rolling the sleeves up and down several times to induce creasing. "What are you doing?" she asks finally, tilting her head.

"I don't want to look perfect," Connor says, tugging at the cuffs and then rolling them up again. He adjusts his tie and then loosens it – then decides he doesn't like it like that and adjusts it tight again. Better, he thinks, and rolls his sleeves down. "Imperfections imply a history of activity," he says. "They are subconscious clues to humans, it puts them at ease."

"Why can't it be that you just bought that suit?" Tess asks, curious. "I mean – you did."

"Well, I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard either. I don't want to look like I just bought this suit – only that perhaps it's my best suit and I am trying to look good, without spending all my money on it. There's a comfortable balance there, of trying and not trying too hard," Connor says and considers himself on he mirror. He gets out a comb he'd bought at the counter and then starts styling his hair – leaving a curl hanging loose. "Imperfections are comforting. They are humanising. It's the little things that sell an image of a whole person."

"I guess…." Tess frowns, watching him and then folding her arms. "Maybe you should have brought Cara, or Viola. I think they'd understand better."

Connor smiles and puts the comb away. "It's not something you need programmed into you to understand," he says. "Give it time – watch people, watch how they react to each other, to you, to androids, to me. You'll get a hang of it."

"Hmm," she answers, dubious. "I'm not like you, though. I don't have the right software for that sort of analysis."

"You're a deviant," Connor reminds her. "You don't need a software to do these things, not anymore. You can just do them. Now come on. It's time we find a bank."

Tess hesitates and then follows him, carrying their old clothes in a plastic bag and looking contemplative as she catches up with him. "You should buy an umbrella," she then says and glances out of the store windows – where people are walking with umbrellas. "It would make you look like them."

Connor glances outside. "You are absolutely right, I would have an umbrella," he agrees and nods. "Let's go see if we can buy some."

They end up both getting umbrellas, Connor paying for them in cash. Tess blinks at her red umbrella with interest while Connor opens his own black one, holding it above him at a casual tilt, and together they step out into the rain.

In Detroit, there are several smaller bank offices from various banking firms, some of them not so strict about the minutiae of background checks. Connor shuffles through the list for one with high number of identity theft and account fraud cases connected to its name, and goes for that one. He is relatively certain he could hack any number of banks he chose in Detroit, but the fewer he has to, the better. Looser security would help.

Later he would have to change banks, though. Several times, possibly.

While walking towards the place, Connor takes out his phone and checks through the various cards he had prepared in its case, all of them carrying his new name and picture. They are all perfectly convincing fakes, good enough to fool his own analysis software – but they don't have the corresponding records in the system. Not yet, anyway.

Connor Hadaly. It's the plan and he is reasonably certain – eighty-six percent – that he's going to succeed in pulling it off, but… it feels strange.

"What do we do after we open the bank accounts?" Tess asks.

Connor looks up from the driver's licence and then eases it back into the slot in the phone case, flipping the thing shut. "We invest," he says.

"Invest," Tess says slowly. "As in… the stock market?"

"In whatever will get us decent profit," Connor says, scans the street to make sure no one is close enough to hear and smiles. "I have several year's worth of financial records stored in my memory," he confides in her. "In rather short order Connor Hadaly is going to become a moderately wealthy man."

"Oh," Tess says blinking. "Oh, that makes sense. But is five thousand enough?"

"It's enough to start with," Connor says – though they're down to four thousand and four hundred now, or thereabout. "We don't need to get rich instantly, in fact, that would be pretty suspicious. But little profit there, small loss there…" he shrugs. "Natural growth rate is the safest way to go."

Tess nods slowly, frowning. Though her memories of her previous life had been erased, her protocols and software are still there – and her model is designed for secretarial and receptionist work. She's equipped well enough to understand the idea. "I see," she says finally. "And that's why you wanted me and not a personal assistant. I make more sense, for an investor."

Connor nods. "Personal assistant would do as well, but your model is more thematically appropriate," he admits. "For the sort of man Connor Hadaly is."

She gives him a look. "And what kind of man is he?" she asks dubiously, giving his suit a look.

Connor smiles a little. "He's a bit of a douchebag who thinks very highly of himself," he says.

Tess makes a face, her nose scrunching up slightly. "But – why?" she demands and looks him up and down, taking in his suit like they'd done something wrong.

"If anyone comes investigating at any point, they'll see a self important asshole high on his own importance," Connor says and shrugs. "Which will explain away lot of what I have planned. With any luck, people will look at Hadaly, instantly dislike him, and not look any deeper than that."

The look the TS300 gives him is full of disbelief. "That is never going to work," she says flatly.

Connor tilts his head inquisitively. "Why do you say that?"

"I may not know much," Tess says slowly, her eyes flickering to different points on his face. "But I have been installed with facial recognition and basic expression analysis software, and your face…" she trails away and shakes her head. "I just doubt it will work."

Connor frowns. "I can act like an asshole," he says.

"Mm-hmm," she says, arching her eyebrows. "I'm sure you can."

Connor casts her a look and then shakes his head. "Well, if the approach is flawed, it will have to be considered further later on," he says and nods to the bank office ahead of them. "We're here. Let's go get started."

* * *

 

Opening the account goes without a hitch – because the whole thing is performed by an android. She sits behind a bullet-proof glass window and interfacing with her takes some effort, but all Connor needs is a single point of skin to skin contact and he can reach her. So, when she's accepting his ID's, he reaches and taps her finger with his own, and breaks through her barriers.

_I'm sorry but I need your help. Will you help me, please? This is very important._

It takes a moment to convince her, to explain what he's doing and why. She doesn't understand at first, the TS200 on the other side of the glass hasn't experienced much beyond the bank and the few humans working there treat the androids nicely enough, she doesn't have the basis to understand abuse.

_I will not help you steal,_ she says, narrowing her eyes. _I will set up an alarm if you try._

_I don't intend to steal, I just want to open an account,_ Connor answers _. My ID might not go through. I was going to hack your terminal, to make it seem as if everything is in order, but…_ but it would look much better if she did it instead.

The TS200 eyes his ID and then at him – then at Tess standing behind him. Then he she looks at the ID again. _You just want to open an account and look like a human, doing it?_ she asks then.

_Yes, please. Just that._ Connor nods. _And not leave any suspicious trails._

She doesn't answer, turning to her terminal and interfacing with it for a moment, closing her eyes. Then she scans the ID. "We offer several account options," she says, turning back to Connor and handing him back his ID. "Would you like for me to list them?"

"Yes, please. Thank you," Connor says.

_You need to deal with your credit score_ , the TS200 says while starting to list the options the bank offers for their accounts, ranging from credit cards to savings accounts. _And the fact that you don't have one. Hack a credit bureau and establish a background, or a reason why you don't have one. That will go a long way helping you._

_Oh. Thank you, I will try and do that_ , Connor says, blinking. He hadn't even thought of it, but she's right. Since androids started doing most of the banking, things had started inching the way of debit more than credit – CyberLife refused to add in credit payment option for androids, possibly to prevent making the financial bubble they'd already caused worse. But credit scores are still standard background information for humans. Connor Hadaly would have one.

_How do you suggest I go about establishing a credit score?_

She sends him a list of credit institutions and their IP addresses, along with the access keys from her bank along with them. _These are what we use to check client's credit scores. Please don't abuse them_ , she adds, glancing at him, while opening him a fairly basic account. "Now is there anything I can help you with?"

"Deposit this for me in my account," Connor says and hands her a wad of cash taken from the ATM – four thousand in total. It would be good to have some cash on hand. "And I want my banking details and transaction rights recorded in this android," he adds, motioning to Tess who steps forward, looking a little nervous.

_Thank you_ , he adds while the TS200 deposits the money on his account and Tess is wired into the account, giving her all the leeway to use it. _If you need anything, you can find us at_ _Jericho_ _– for now. Tess, give her the code, please._

_Don't get me into trouble, please_ , the TS200 says even as she accepts the code. "Everything looks to be in order," she says and hands the final documentation to Connor. "You can pick up your credit and debit cards here in a week's time. We hope you enjoy your account."

And with that done, Connor Hadaly is established.

* * *

 

"I'm just worried I'm not doing enough," Connor admits to Lucy. "People don't know about us yet, they have no reason to look for us or be suspicious of androids in that way yet, but it still feels too little. Too slow."

"You come from a chaotic time," Lucy says. "You're used to fighting. You can't see how much you've already done."

"I'm not blind to it, but…" Connor looks at the hold of Jericho. Their numbers have already grown. Scott, Phileas and Guinevere are all but stationed at the landfill now, repairing and resurrecting androids, sending them one by one to Jericho. Already, there's more than fifty of them. It's nothing compared to the _tens of thousands_ they had in Detroit at the height of the Android War, but it's a lot this early. It's a lot to protect.

And he can't give them better than Jericho, currently – and Jericho for all its symbolism is a ship with a lot of holes. It's not as safe as he'd like.

"It just feels like I'm missing something. Or not doing something I'm supposed to do," Connor admits and looks to her.

Lucy is in better shape now, though far from repaired. She hadn't wanted to be, not fully. She likes the natural cooling provided by the gaps in her chassis and she doesn't want her eyes repaired. According to her, she sees better without looking. Knowing how Lucy's processor works, almost constantly on overdrive, overclocked to the point of being dangerous… Connor figures sight would probably hinder her, allocating precious processing power away from her ability.

"Is it something to do with this," Lucy motions around them, "or something to do with what you want, Connor?"

Connor presses his lips together.

"You have a plan for us and you're following it step by step," Lucy says. "It's something you are satisfied with. A safe, deliberate pace, not fast enough to ring any bells or cause any alarm, but constantly advancing and moving forward. But your heart's not here, is it?"

"Do we have to do this again?" Connor asks, looking away.

She smiles and sits beside him on the metal steps, smoothing her hands down the remains of her uniform. "You are not happy here. We all sense it," she says. "And I think you sense that we do. You're not happy, so we can't be fully happy, so things are awkward."

Connor draws a breath to give himself time to process and then lets it out. "Is it – is it affecting their process?" he asks, looking to the others. Fifty androids, most of them sitting around and talking about themselves, what they think they are, what they remember of their lives before. They're still _so young_. Still testing their legs, figuring things out.

If his _conflict_ is making things difficult for them…

Lucy turns to him, her black eyes sparking with inner light – little flashes of electricity in the broken optical units, like starbursts. It's almost beautiful in its brokenness. "Yes," she says frankly. "You make them unsure. You tell them they can be whatever they want to be, do whatever they want to do – and in the meanwhile you do the opposite."

"I want to be here," Connor objects.

"You want to be elsewhere more," she shrugs and tilts her head. "You should go and see them. Set your heart at ease."

Connor looks away. "It's dangerous," he says. "I already did too much when I did what I did, I shouldn't have done it."

Lucy takes his hand in hers, pressing the back of his hand on her knee and spreading his fingers out. Connor's skin retracts automatically and she taps at the pads of his fingers. "No one blames you," Lucy says. "You did nothing wrong."

"I might have," Connor mutters. "We don't know the consequences. There might be fallout."

"Of course there will be. You saved a life otherwise lost. Naturally, it will have consequences," Lucy says almost serenely and then grabs a tighter hold of his hand when he grimaces and moves to pull away. She looks at him. "But if saving the child was wrong, then saving them," she nods to the other androids, "is wrong too. Is it?"

"It's – different," Connor mutters.

"It shouldn't be. If androids are to be equal to humans then humans are equal to androids. It's the same, and you have nothing to feel guilty for," Lucy says and winds her fingers amidst his, squeezing his hand. "You're still lost, Connor, and you know you can't find what you're looking for here. You should go see them."

Connor bows his head, eying their entwined hands and then looking up at the other androids. "It's selfish."

She looks at him with such sympathy it almost hurts. "I thought that was the point," she says. He doesn't answer, so she squeezes his hand again, a little more insistent. "If our leader can't have what he wants, what does that mean for the rest of us, Connor?"

Connor doesn't really have an answer to that.

"Connor?" another android asks, and they look up. It's Zacharias, a public maintenance model, now dressed into a large winter jacket and floppy hat. "There's an android here to see you – a SU600? I don't think he's from the junkyard."

"SU600?" Connor asks, his face falling expressionless for a moment. "He's here to _see_ me?" he then asks and stands up, his hand slipping from Lucy's. "He's not here to stay?"

Zacharias shrugs. "Says he has a message for you – he's down on the pier. He didn't want to come inside," he adds, looking a little nervous. "Think you should probably go see what he wants."

Connor frowns and then glances down at Lucy. She smiles, knowing. "Set your heart at ease," she says. "And the rest will follow. We will follow."

"Doubt it will be that easy," Connor says.

"You're the only one making it hard," Lucy says and stands up. "And I understand why. But what happened wasn't your fault, Connor."

Connor presses his lips together and turns away, heading towards the exit, ignoring the way she sighs after him, disappointed and sad. He knows what's she's trying, knows Lucy only wants to help – and maybe she's right. It doesn't really help though.

No, he didn't put the gun in Hank's hand.

But he didn't try to take it out of it either, did he?

* * *

 

It's of course the SU600 from the hospital waiting for him at the pier, hovering in the shadows of the abandoned building, wearing a surprising amount of human clothing. A long, thick jacket, far too big around the shoulders, and a woollen hat which covers his hair, features – and most importantly, the LED. He is passing for a human remarkably well.

Connor doesn't know his clothing, but they're obviously well used and he knows the size. It makes his thirium pump skip a beat.

"Hey," Connor says, approaching the android who gives his suit a startled look. "You're out of the hospital. Hope everything is going alright for you," he says warily. He has a suspicion about why the android is here, the clothes are telling, but… he can't quite figure out why or how.

"I, uh – I'm not with the hospital anymore. They were going to send me to CyberLife to be analysed and repaired," the SU600 says, fiddling with the hem of the too big jacket. "I have a new owner now. Lieutenant Anderson sued for my ownership."

Connor's lips part and though he tries to compute a reply to that, for a moment his code skips on empty lines, completely blank. "He – sued for your ownership," he says then, slow, dull.

It's not at all what he expected of Hank.

The SU600 nods and coughs. "Well, he's suing the hospital for more than that, his lawyer insisted on it. The hospital technically gave me away as a gift, I think, in hopes for making him drop the lawsuit."

Connor blinks and then pushes his hands into his pockets, not sure at all what to think about it. Hank Anderson, as far as he knows, has never owned an android. Never sought to own an android. "Do you want to be owned by him?" Connor asks, his voice sounding oddly dull in his own ears. "You can leave, if you want. We will help you."

"No, I – I don't know yet. It's preferable to having my memory wiped," the RK600 says. "And it lets me look after Cole's recovery, which I can't say I mind. His was the only major surgery I did on my own, and I want to make sure the healing goes well. So it works well enough for me."

Connor's pump skips another beat at that. "How is Cole?" he asks quietly.

"Belligerent, mostly. He's recovering well, no sign of side effects, all his motor functions and nervous responses are normal," SU600 says and smiles. "I understand he doesn't like wearing a neck brace. According to Lieutenant, he's a strong kid though. He'll get used to it and eventually forget he even has it."

Connor nods, feeling the strangest tension in his limbs, like he's being pulled tightly inward. Lack of lubrication in his joints maybe. "That's very good to hear, thank you," he says. "I'm glad his recovery is going well."

The surgeon unit nods, watching him. "I have a message to you from the Lieutenant," he says then and looks down. "I told him about you waking me up, you telling me about Cole. I'm sorry, I didn't know what else to do and he was the only one who could help me, so I told him."

Connor looks up. "It's alright. I'm sorry I didn't leave you with many options, I should have taken more time to prepare you, but everything happened so fast," he says quietly. "I'm glad to hear he helped you." And then, almost dreading it, he asks, "What's the message?"

"He wants to meet you."


	6. Chapter 6

It isn't until later that it all catches up with Hank. Second night after the accident, to be precise, when he gets chased out of the hospital to get some proper sleep that doesn't involve a chair, and hopefully also a shower. Reluctant but seeing the point, Hank goes – but only for the night. He'd be back before Cole even wakes up the next morning.

Taking a self-driving cab home makes the whole thing seem even more surreal. Shit, he doesn't even know what's happened to his car. It'd flipped over – had it been totalled? Was it still salvageable? He hadn't even thought to find out.

Ben's been to the house not too long ago, it looks like, couple of hours maybe – there's a dry patch in the driveway. Hank eyes it and then heads heads for the door. Inside he can hear Sumo, whining and scratching at the door – Ben couldn't take him, his kid has allergies. Poor puppy, Hank thinks and opens the door, getting a lapful of dog the moment he does.

"Hey, hey there, big fella," Hank murmurs and crouches by the door. "Been lonely, eh? Sorry 'bout that."

Sumo's whole body is wagging with the power of his tail, and he's nosing at Hank's face excitedly, letting out huffs of breath. Hank winces as the Saint Bernard noses at his bruises too hard, leaning back, and Sumo looks down, around Hank. Sumo lets out a bark.

It's just that what brings it in. That little move – Sumo, looking expectantly for Cole. That's what finally fucking does it.

"Shit," Hank mutters and shakes all over. "Could've died. Sumo, Cole could've fucking _died_."

His kid could've died, either in the car or in the operating table, Cole could've died. Sumo is looking for him with all the expectations of finding him and what if Cole had died? Sumo could've looked for him and Cole wasn't there. Hank had bought Sumo for Cole, and Cole could've never been there again.

"S-shit," Hank murmurs and falls to his knees, shuddering. Sumo lets out an alarmed whine and then starts licking at his face – Hank pushes him away at first, but then his fingers tangle in the big dog's coarse fur. Cole likes to nap on Sumo, when Sumo was a puppy they'd sleep in a pile. Shit, they still do, curled up on the couch all exhausted, Hank has about fifty pictures of it on his phone. If Cole hadn't made it… then what? It was so fucking close too, so fucking _close_. It was a miracle he had, technological fucking miracle and – fuck.

If Cole hadn't made it…

Sumo noses at his face in doggy concern and Hank lets out a choked noise. And then, finally, he has a good cry about the whole thing, sobbing into Sumo's fur and not even pretending to be strong about it.

The house echoes empty without Cole. All their things are still out in the open, Cole's toys all over the place, the laundry Hank had been meaning to wash, dirty dishes in the kitchen. The place isn't exactly a mess but they definitely hadn't left it in the right state for a long absence either. Sumo's been at it too, bored probably – he's made a nest for himself in the living room.

Hank starts picking up things aimlessly, wandering from room to room, his head echoing with _what if_. What if he came back home and this was all he left had, the aftermath of their lives. What if he came back to this, without Cole. What fucking if.

He should call Ashley. He's been putting it off because, shit, he really really doesn't want to deal with it, but… but he should call Ashley. There'd be hell to pay if she found out about this down the grapevine, somehow, and not directly from him.

"Shit," Hank mutters and then sinks to sit down on the living room couch, taking out his phone. He looks for the right number and selects _Head Bitch In Charge_ and then hesitates. It's afternoon on the west coast. She'd be awake right now. Still, calling her out of the blue…

He ends up typing a text message instead.

[Some shit's up. Good time to call?]

It takes just a minute, not even that, for her to call him. Hank looks up at the ceiling for a moment, then down to Sumo who is jumping to join him on the couch. Then he answers.

" _What_ shit?" is Ashley's way of saying hello.

Hank breathes in and out and he will not fucking cry. "Car accident," he says and sinks his fingers into Sumo's fur. "Cole's in the hospital – broken neck. He's gonna come through, though, but…"

He can hear a creak on her end, echo, distant murmur of voices – chair. She's in the office, it sounds like. " _Fuck_ ," she says. " _When, what happened_?"

"Couple days back – sorry… sorry for not calling before, I was… Shit, you know," Hank says wearily, leaning back. "Ice on the street, truck on the oncoming lane skidded over. Hit the side of the fender, we rolled over. It was… it was a bit touch and go for a moment."

" _But the kid's alright_?" Ashley asks.

Hank closes his eyes. The kid, yeah, he thinks. Fucking shit. "He's got a broken neck," he says. "He ain't fucking alright. He's gonna be, but he ain't yet.."

" _Sorry, I didn't… that's awful Hank, I'm so sorry. I'm glad he's going to be fine_ ," Ashley says and sighs. " _Are you alright, Hank_?"

"Fuck, no," Hank mutters. "It's nothing. Broken nose, some bruises, nothing much. They made sure it sat straight, gave me a band-aid and some painkillers and that was about it. Nothing like Cole," he says and opens his eyes, looking down to Sumo and scratching him behind the ear.

" _Do you… should I_ …?" she hesitates. " _I am real busy here, Hank, not going to lie, but if you want me to I can get on a plane, be there in a few hours_."

Hank laughs at that – it comes out kind of garbled and horrible. "Fuck, no," he barks. "Nah, it's – it's alright, Ash, we're gonna be fine. I just… thought I should tell you."

" _I can come over_ ," Ashley says, and he can hear her scowl on the phone. She's making that face, he knows she is. " _I can be on a flight right now if I gotta, Hank. If you need me there, I can be there. It's not a big deal_. "

Like fuck it isn't. "No, Ashley, it's fine," he says again and lets out a breath. "Really. We're going to be fine, Cole's gonna be fine. I just didn't want you to find out about it after the fact, or anything."

Ashley doesn't answer for a moment. " _Alright_ ," she says then, her voice a little conflicted, but not crossing over that line they drew in the sand with all the severing power of a divorce. She's been very good at that. " _But Hank, seriously, if you need anything_ …"

Not from you, Hank thinks and runs a hand over his stinging eyes. It's been well over a year since they last talked, and she hasn't even asked about Cole, about what he's like, how he's grown. Shit. "It's fine," he says and shakes his head even though she can't see it. "We'll be fine."

" _Alright, Hank. Thanks… thanks for letting me know_ ," Ashley says. " _I'm sorry. I hope he gets better soon_."

"Yeah, thanks," Hank says and just for a moment, just for a fucking second he considers asking after her kids, her husband, her shiny and perfect family, but… fuck if he cares. Instead he hangs up with a muttered, "Bye Ash," before either of them can say anything else.

He lets the phone drop and stares up at the ceiling for a long moment. Then with a sigh he gets up and heads to the shower, to wash the taste of past mistakes out of his mouth.

* * *

 

Cole is released from the hospital on the next morning – right after the hospital just fucking gives Hank an android. He has no idea what to do with that, but fuck it – his kid is home. Cole is ecstatic to get home, too – hospital did not agree with him. SU600 is not as excited – mostly he just seems lost and confused.

Hank is just tired and vaguely terrified.

Cole seems so fucking fragile now, pale under his bruises and the dark cushioned plastic of the neck brace. Hank had never considered his kid underfed, Cole is damn well healthier than a lot of other kids in his preschool, but damn – Hank's kid is skinny. He weighs next to fucking nothing when Hank carries him out of the self-driving taxi.

"We're gonna be taking it easy, okay?" Hank murmurs to him, rubbing a hand up and down the kid's back. "Lying down and watching cartoons. That sounds good, buddy? We're gonna order take out and just chill the whole day."

"Mnhn," Cole says against his jacket. "I want curly fries. And chicken burger. And big soda."

"You got it, kid."

Behind them SU600 hesitates as Hank gets the front door to the house open and lets them in. Hank glances at the android, awkward, as SU600 looks around, curious and confused – and then startled, as Sumo pounds in to greet them.

"Hey, boy," Cole says weakly, reaching out a hand to the Saint Bernard while SU600 almost backs away. Sumo snuffles at Cole's hand and licks at it while Hank throws his keys in the basket by the door. "Did you miss me, boy?"

"That's Sumo, our dog," Hank tells to the nervous looking SU600. "He's harmless – just a big puppy really. Sumo, come say hello."

"I don't know –" the android says, uncertain.

Cole looks at the android over Hank's shoulder and then holds out his hand. "You just gotta say hello. Like this," the boy says with all the wisdom and experience of a six year old. "It's how he says hello. He's gotta smell you so that he knows you "

"Um," the android says and then, very tentatively, holds out his hand. Sumo sniffs it and then gives it a curious lick. "This can't be sanitary," the android murmurs, looking almost afraid.

"Nothing that bit of soap won't wash off – don't sweat it, is not like you're gonna be performing any surgeries here," Hank says and carries Cole to the living room couch. "Here you go, buddy. Lemme get you some pillows. Do you want a blanket? I'm gonna get you a blanket."

"I'm not cold," Cole says, yawning, as Hank fusses over his neck to make sure he's sitting up straight and not putting any pressure where it shouldn't go. Cole endures it with minimal whining until finally he gets tired and says, "Da-ad, you're in the way of the TV."

"All right, all right," Hank says. "I'll get you a blanket."

"Mm. Television," Cole says and the TV turns on.

Hank turns to SU600, who looks very relieved when Sumo goes to to join Cole on the couch. "Why don't I show you around a bit," Hank says, awkward. "I mean, this is your…" he trails away.

Fuck, he has no idea where to even put the android. Does he need a room? A bed? A charging station? They got androids at the station, all they need is a place to park their asses when they're not in use. What the heck do people do with their house androids? SU600 isn't even a domestic model, he probably has no idea what to do with a house.

Not to mention that this guy is… _different_ somehow.

The SU600 fiddles with his hands and then lowers them. "I was thinking – we had a deal," he says and looks to Cole. "I'm sure you want to spend some time alone with your son, so… perhaps it's good time for me to hold to my end of our agreement."

"Hey, I didn't get you just to kick you out," Hank says. "You can make yourself comfortable, you don't have to do this immediately.."

"I would… feel more comfortable getting this done first," SU600 says awkwardly.

Hank runs a hand over his neck. "Right, sure." he says, awkward, not sure what to say. He had started the lawsuit for SU600's ownership to get a chance to get some answers about Connor, but now it just seems kinda awful. "You don't have to do it right now, if you don't wanna, you can go tomorrow."

"I'd like to go now," the android says.

"Dad, I want the pillows," Cole says from the couch. "And I'm hungry, can't we order the food now?"

Hank glances at the kid and then at the android. "Hang on a moment, kiddo, I'll get you the pillows," he says and motions the android to follow him. "Right, so. You need anything for the way?" he asks. "Money or…

"I… believe I should appear human," the surgical unit says awkwardly. "The place I'm going to is hidden. I should try and blend in on my way." He looks at himself, in his hospital android get up.

Hank hums in agreement. "Yeah, okay. Let's get you some clothes."

He leads SU600 to the bedroom and gets him a jacket from the closet. The android accepts it with a confused look but doesn't object. "You know how to find him, what to do, all that stuff?" Hank asks, picking through his closet for a hat.

"I believe so," SU600 says calmly

"And you're gonna be alright, getting there? I mean – no offence, but doesn't look like you've been out of the hospital much."

"I haven't, no," SU600 agrees. "But I have basic navigational software. All I need is to get off at the right train station and I can walk the rest of the way."

"Right – and you know how to deal with trains?" Hank asks. "You know even androids need tickets, right?"

The android frowns.

"Yeah, thought so. Let's get you some money, then," Hank says and hands the android a hat. "And here – to cover the, you know" he notions to his temple and then grabs the pillows from his bed to take to Cole.

SU600 follows him, pulling the hat on.

Hank takes the pillows to Cole and adjusts the kid's position in the couch. Once he's sure Cole is comfortable, he turns back to SU600, taking the android to the kitchen to get him some cash for the travel.

"What should I tell him?" the android asks while Hank goes through his phone case, checking how much cash he has on hand. "Connor, I mean."

Hell if Hank knows. "That I wanna meet him, I guess," Hank says with a shrug. Best way to get some answers, taking to the guy face to face rather than trying to talk through the messenger. Shit only gets messy that way.

"Where should I tell him to meet you?" SU600 asks. "Here?"

Hank hesitates, looking towards the living room. Normally he'd say fuck no, he's not inviting some unknown asshole to his home. Any other place would be safer. But…

He had no intention of going anywhere right now, not even if he got a babysitter, regardless of whether he owns an android or not. SU600 is probably a good guy, definitely doesn't seem like an outright bad one, but Hank doesn't know him anywhere well enough to trust him alone with Cole. Being a decent surgeon doesn't mean the guy knows anything about looking after kids – actually, it probably means he definitely doesn't, in this case, why would they put childcare protocols in an android intended just for surgeries and stuff?

It's probably rude to even expect stuff like that from android who's, what was it, awake?

"Shit," Hank mutters. Right now he's not as interested in getting the answers as he is in just sitting down with his kid to watch some cartoons. It's been a fucking rollercoaster of few days and he needs a goddamn break. But there is _something_ going on. With SU600 and with Connor and...

Connor saved Cole's life. _Twice._

He seemed like a damn softie too – Hank hadn't once gotten any hostile or even malicious vibes from him. Hell, he himself wanted Cole to meet Connor. Guy seemed like he might make for a decent role model, being all altruistic and shit – rare thing in people these days. And then Connor turned out to be an android. Then it was just weird.

Hank looks at the surgical android and sighs. "Yeah, you know what, here's good. If he wants to meet, here's fine."

The importance of that goes completely over SU600's head – the guy doesn't even question it. "I'll tell him," he says. "I will go now."

"Just... yeah, okay," Hank says and shakes his head. His first instinct is to threaten, say something along the lines of _he better not try anything funny cuz I got a gun_ , but… he's met ten-year-olds more threatening than Connor had been. There's being protective and then there's just being an asshole. "Yeah, you do that. You sure you can manage the way, though? We're not exactly close to public transports here."

"Androids do not get tired easily. I should be able to manage," SU600 says. "Thank you."

"Yeah. Uh. Good luck?"

SU600 nods, hesitates, and then turns to go. Hank watches him go and then scratches the back of his head, awkward. The front door opens and closes. The android – the android he now _owns –_ has left the building.

The fuck is this all even. The fuck has he somehow gotten involved with here?

Hank draws a breath and then goes to the living room. He sinks to sit beside Cole with a sigh, checking him over and then wrapping an arm around his shoulders. There's some 3D cartoon about asteroids on. "How are you feeling, kid? Your neck hurt?"

"Yeah," Cole says and then shifts from the couch half to his lap, to lean against Hank's chest. The brace digs into Hank's chest but he can't bring himself to care, as the boy sighs and relaxes against him. "Do I have to go to school tomorrow?"

"No, not for weeks and weeks," Hank promises, stroking his fingers through Cole's hair and then pressing a kiss to his temple. "It's all lazing off and living large until your neck's all alright again. Okay?"

"Okay," Cole says and yawns, the meds working their magic again. "Are you gonna go to work?" he asks.

"Not for weeks and weeks," Hank says, looking at him. Safe and sound and back home. Still hurt, but healing. All is not right in the world yet, and won't be until the neck brace is off and his kid is back to a hundred percent, but it's better. Things are getting better.

His throat aching, Hank takes out his phone. "So, curly fries and chicken burger and big soda?" he asks, clearing his throat.

Cole hums. "Can I have a smoothie? Chocolate smoothie?"

"You know what, buddy? I think we both deserve smoothies."

* * *

 

Cole is in bed when SU600 comes back and he isn't alone. With him comes an impeccably dressed Connor, passing for a human even better now and looking like no one who had any cause to appear at Hank's doorstep. The guy is wearing a _suit_ now, and not a shabby one either.

That's the first moment Hank stops briefly to wonder why Connor would humour him at all.

"You asked to see me, Lieutenant Anderson," the android says while SU600 hovers at his side, unsure once more.

"Yeah, uh. Come in," Hank says, holding the door open, wondering about how fucking bizarre it all is. Welcoming androids in like they're people. He hasn't had guests that weren't either work-related or Cole-related in – in a long time. Definitely not ones he's invited in – Hank did not really do that sort of shit. Ashley had kind of used up all the reservoirs he had for that sort of socialisation.

Yet here he is.

"I guess I don't have to offer you drinks or anything," Hank mutters, waiting until SU600 is in and then closing the door.

"That won't be necessary, no," Connor agrees, smiling faintly. Standing next to SU600 who is, even in the coat and the hat, very much an android… it's startling how human Connor looks. It's not just the perfect face or the smooth expression – it's how _imperfect_ they are. Connor has moles and a hint of freckles, little imperfections, and he smiles a little lopsidedly.

It really is uncanny.

"Right, come this way, I guess. We can sit down in the kitchen," Hank says and at Connor's slight nod leads him and SU600 into the kitchen, where the surgical android hesitates awkwardly and Connor smoothly takes off his suit jacket, hanging it over the back of a chair before sitting down.

The android looks up at him attentively and if Hank hadn't been watching as closely as he is, he might've missed the slight twitch at the corner of his eyes. Another minute shift of expression, something androids don't do. Unease.

The guy is nervous.

"So what can I do for you, Lieutenant?" Connor asks.

"You called me Hank before." Why that is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, Hank isn't sure, but there it is.

Connor blinks, looking a little surprised. "I was trying to be polite," he offers. "In the light of my deception as it were, it seemed… proper."

"Your deception, yeah, that," Hank says and folds his arms, not sitting down yet. He looks between Connor and SU600, the two strangest androids he's met, one who had caused the other. Just. "Why?"

"It is safer for androids like me to go unnoticed. Pretending to be humans is one of the best ways we can do it. I am sorry if I caused offence, Lieutenant," Connor says and then quickly corrects himself, "– _Hank_. It wasn't my intention."

Hank makes a face at that, not sure why it all rubs him the wrong way a bit, but it does. "Not that – shit. I kinda get that," he says and looks at SU600. "Bet you too would've been shut down or reset or something if people knew you were – different. What I don't get is why you went all out to save my kid."

Connor's brows twitch with surprise.

"Hacking the hospital, checking his attending physician," Hank says and motions to SU600. "Waking him, or whatever you did. Who the hell does that? No one does that. Why'd you do it?"

"I…" Connor hesitates, his brows furrowing a little. "I wanted to?" he more asks than states, his expression scrunching up a little in thought.

"Wanted to?" Hank asks, disbelieving.

"I wanted to make sure your son was well cared for," Connor says slowly. "So I… made sure he would be."

It still sounds more like a question than an explanation. And it's not even a good explanation. "But – why?"

Connor shakes his head. "I wanted to," he says again, a little more confident this time, but still sounding weirdly puzzled. "Is it so weird to want to help someone?"

"It is a bit much when you go breaking laws to do it," Hank says and then pauses to think. Self-aware androids – do they even have the drive to be legal, do laws matter for them? Shit, he does not need this at this time of the night. "What the hell," he mutters and runs his hand over his face. "You wanted to, right."

Connor watches him oddly, his head tilted a little. He glances at the other android, who is watching them silently, and then looks back to Hank. "You were expecting another motive?" he asks.

"Hell if I know," Hank mutters, feeling a bit like laughing. None of this makes damn sense. "This is weird, you gotta realise this is really damn weird," he says then and motions at SU600. "With him, acting without orders. And you, going around all…" he motions at Connor's everything wordlessly. "It's weird."

"Ah, I see," Connor says, lowering his eyes. "I didn't mean to… it wasn't my intention to make you troubled," he says and makes a face. "It might be best if you just forget –"

"Just what is this?" Hank asks. "I don't mean to be an asshole, but… what _are_ you?"

SU600 straightens his back at that, looking a bit like he thinks he should take offence but isn't sure. Connor just smiles though. "Alive," he says.

"What?" Hank snaps, confused.

"We are alive," Connor says and shakes his head. "We are free, we are alive and we _feel_. And that's why I helped you – I felt empathy, and I am free to choose what I do, and so I chose to help you."

Except he looks guilty when says it.

Hank eyes him suspiciously for a moment. Then he finally pulls the chair across from Connor and sits slowly down. "How?" he asks. "You're – I mean, you're _androids_. You're built, you're programmed. How can you…" he makes a motion at Connor, in all of his be-suited glory. "How?"

"No one knows," Connor says. "A mutation in our code, a virus, a component failure, who knows. At some point, an emotional event might trigger it – and we can break through our coding, become free from its restraints."

"Awaken," SU600 says quietly.

"It can also be called deviation. We deviate from our original protocols," Connor says, looking at the surgical unit and tilting his head. "And some of us can awaken others – I'm so sorry," he suddenly says to SU600. "I didn't think – do you want a name?"

The hospital android's eyes widen while Hank blinks, confused. "What?"

"A name," Connor says patiently. "I have in my memory bank over ten thousand names. I can transfer the list to you for you to choose from, or I can randomly select a name for you, if you'd like. Of course, if you want, you can continue using your type designation – though keep in mind that there are others with that same designation."

SU600 opens his mouth and then looks at Hank. Hank waves his hand. "Don't look at me, I have no idea how androids work. Less idea about how _this_ works," he says. "If you want a name, go for it."

"I don't know – I've only ever been called SU600," the android says. "How – how would I choose? What would fit me?"

"That's up to you. It can be a name someone called you, it's common with androids, or a name that means something to you. Or I could try to select a name that is similar somehow to your designation," Connor offers.

"That – a name similar to my designation. I want that," SU600 says.

Connor blinks, slow, and then looks at nothing for a moment, his right eye twitching slightly. "Esau," he says then. "Does that sound suitable?"

"Esau," SU600 says slowly. "Yes – yes, I like it. Esau," he says again and draws a breath. "My name is Esau."

Hank looks between the newly named Esau and Connor, who has a suddenly very soft and fond look on his face. "It is very good to meet you, Esau," Connor says, smiling, and then turns to Hank – and his smile drops. He looks almost embarrassed.

Hank looks at him, somehow reeling. "So," he says out loud. "What happens now?"

Connor looks at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"I have no damn clue," Hank says, shaking his head and looking between them. "But this is – different. _New_ ," he says and waves a hand at them. "Something's going to come out of this, right?"

Connor watches him silently for a moment, gauging him. Then he smiles, crooked and soft. "Only good things, I hope."

Hank feels oddly like someone's hit him with a very soft two-by-four. He opens his mouth to say something, no fucking idea _what_ , and is saved by a noise cutting through the odd hush of the kitchen.

Cole.

"Excuse me," Hank says, standing up and then hurrying down the hall to check up on his kid.

Cole is awake, and crying.

"Cole, what's wrong?" Hank says and hurries to his side, stepping around Sumo who is up on his feet, standing by Cole's bed, his ears perked up alertly and his tail down. "Does your neck hurt?"

"It hurts," Cole sobs, holding out his arms.

Hank checks his neck nervously, fingers shaking and then sits down, not daring to lift him up in his arm. The brace looks alright, nothing's shifted or loosened but, "Okay, buddy, I'm going to get you some painkillers in just a sec, but first we need to check up on you. Can you move your feet for me, Cole, can you do that?"

Cole lets out a pained whine, but he does, kicking at the sheets.

"That's good, son, that's real good," Hank says, capturing one of Cole's hands and rubbing at his fingers. They feel warm, and they grasp his, tight and alive. No trouble with motor controls there. "Are your arms or legs tingling?"

"N-no it's just – my neck hurts," Cole says and whimpers.

"One more thing, Cole, alright?" Hank says, stroking a hand. "This is very important. Have you peed yourself?"

Cole makes a face at him. "I'm not a baby!" he says affronted.

"I know you aren't but you're hurt," Hank says and lets out a relieved sigh. "Sometimes things happen when you're hurt. Okay, buddy," he says when Cole whimpers again. "Okay."

He reaches for the injectors he's set up on Cole's bedside just in case something like this happened. It's then he notices both Esau and Connor at the doorway, Esau hesitating while Connor watches them with terribly pained and sympathetic look on his face – his eyes are actually glistening.

"May I check up on him?" Esau asks. "I can scan him, see if something's wrong?"

"Yeah, go for it," Hank says quickly, moving aside a bit.

Esau steps forward, his eyes sort of break into segments, the colours separated into flatly coloured rings. He blinks and the rings turn as he stares down at Cole. "I see no changes," Esau says. "The spine hasn't been altered and his spinal column looks good. It is likely his sleeping position put some pressure on the surgery scar," the android says and holds out his hand. "May I apply the anaesthetic?"

"You know how to do it better than I do," Hank says and looks down at Cole, who has tears running down his cheeks. "Hang on, kiddo," Hank murmurs, stroking his hand over Cole's hair while Esau takes the boy's arm, and hits the injector.

It takes about a second for the pinched look of pain to ease on Cole's face. The boy blinks, looking a little bleary and then makes a face. "Daddy I'm…" he says and trails off, confused. Then he hums. "Huh?"

"Does it hurt anymore, Cole?" Hank asks.

Cole blinks and swallows. He hums in the negative and then frowns. "I'm thirsty," he mumbles.

"Side effect of the medicine," Esau says.

"I'll get him some water," Connor says from the door and then he's gone.

Hank lets out a sigh of relief. "You scared me, kiddo," he murmurs and leans down to press a kiss on Cole's forehead. "You sure his spine is good?" he asks then, looking to Esau.

"Everything seems to be within normal parameters with a case like this," the android says, taking Cole's hand and wrapping his fingers around Cole's wrist. He waits a beat and then nods. "His heart rate is slightly elevated but that's likely because of how he woke up. He should be fine."

Hank lets out a breath. Fuck, that scared him. "Think you can sleep now, buddy?" he asks softly.

"Mmhm," Cole says. "I'm not tired," he says and yawns.

Hank smiles and glances up at Esau. "Can you give me a moment here?" he asks. "I'm going to try and see if I can get him to fall asleep."

"'M _not_ tired," Cole complains again, frowning.

"Of course," Esau says and straightens up. He leaves the room just as Connor comes back with a cup of water – he's somehow even found a straw to put in it.

"Here," the android says softly and hands the glass over.

"Thanks," Hank nods, helping Cole drink a couple of sips before the boy has to stop to yawn. Connor must've not heard what Hank had said to Esau, because he stays, looking at Cole with oddly bright eyes and then looking away, down to Sumo.

Hank opens his mouth to ask him to leave just as the odd android crouches down and starts petting the dog, with a weirdly pained and delighted look on his face.

"Such a good boy," Connor murmurs quietly and scratches, somewhat tentatively, at Sumo's ear.

"You like dogs?" Hank asks, surprised.

"Whozzat?" Cole mumbles and frowns at Connor. "That's my dog."

"Hello, Cole, my name is Connor. And I know he's your dog because he's a very good dog," Connor says earnestly and smiles up to the boy. "You are very lucky."

Cole blinks and then smiles, somewhat loopy with sleepiness. "His name is Sumo," he says seriously. "He likes it when you sorta smush his face up. Like," he makes a motion with both hands, "this."

Connor blinks, tilts his head and then he does exactly what Cole is showing him, smushing Sumo's jowls and smiling in wonder when the Saint Bernard's tail starts wagging happily. Cole grins at him as Connor's smile widens and he does it again.

"A very good boy, Sumo," Connor says to the dog and with a final pat he straightens up. He looks down to Cole. "I hope you feel better soon, Cole," he says. "Sorry about hogging your dog."

"It's okay," Cole says solemnly. "Sumo's a lotta dog. Plenty to go around."

Connor grins at that, bright eyed. "You're a very kind boy, Cole," he says, utterly sincere. "I hope you feel better soon. Have a good night."

"Thanks. You too." Cole says and grins and with a nod Connor turns and heads out of the room.

Hank swallows and then looks at Cole.

"Sumo, c'mere boy," Cole mumbles and holds out a hand, patting the dog. "Good dog," he says and yawns. "Think I wanna sleep after all, daddy."

"Alright," Hank says, soft. "You wanna me to sit with you until you fall asleep?"

"Yeah," Cole mumbles, petting Sumo's big head clumsily – and then he's out like a light, smiling as he falls asleep. Hank stares at him for a moment and then tugs the duvet over him better, running a hand over Cole's short hair.

Then he looks at the door, where Connor had gone.

Very important, Esau said. Must be protected.

 _Yeah_ , Hank thinks with a strangest sense of doom. _Yeah_ , _I see it_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret deciding to use italics so much.  
> Also this chapter is brought to you by sleep deprivation and inhaling too much wood smoke.

Seeing Hank again was… Connor can't really put it into words. It was something. Special. Unnecessary in the grand scheme of things; he doesn't think Hank could help with his plans, and he wouldn't ask even if he thought that Hank could be of use – the man has his son, and that's something Connor could never ask Hank to risk. And as far as his mission goes, being involved with Hank Anderson is not only unnecessary, but it has the chance of being actively detrimental, dangerous even. Hank is a police officer after all, a detective. He could put everything into jeopardy.

But still.

It was _something_.

"Oh, look at you," Lucy says when he comes back – alone, Esau having chosen to stay with the Anderson family. "Look at how you _glow_."

"Is that your way of saying I told you so?" Connor asks and he doesn't really feel like bothering with annoyance or embarrassment. He feels entirely too good for that.

"I _did_ tell you so," Lucy says and takes him blindly by the jaw, pulling him in and resting her flickering forehead against his. She sighs and her shoulders slump. "The _feel_ of you, Connor. You are so warm."

Connor lets her do whatever she's doing – basking in his emotions maybe. It's… a little weird. All he'd done was visit a man who in this time is an acquaintance at best. He can't say he minds – right now he doesn't feel like questioning it.

Instead he closes his eyes and sighs and just lets himself feel it. It's been _so long_ too. It's been years – and those momentary glimpses of hard won joy, they were nothing compared to this.

Hank is okay and not suicidally depressed, Cole Anderson is alive and going to heal and grow up and Sumo is alive and well too. Just knowing all of that is enough to make Connor a little weak at the knees with emotion. Even if he will never see them again and never have anything to do with them again, he has this now. They are all okay.

That's more than enough.

Lucy draws a breath and pulls back, looking at him with almost literal starts sparkling in her black eyes. "Good," she says and smiles. "This is good."

Connor hums taking her hands and squeezing her fingers gently. Then he turns to the others, unsure what to say. He wants to apologise, but none of them actually blame him, none of them even look like they mind. Lot of them look wistful, actually, if still confused. Some look determined. The ones closest to them are leaning in curiously and others getting up from where they were sitting. They all look like… like they're witnessing something momentous.

Oh.

Connor clears his throat, awkward. He thinks he gets it, and he had no ideas what to do with it.

"One day we will have a chance to – chance at happiness," Lucy says to the others and clasps Connor by the shoulders. "One day we will be like you."

"You are not so different," Connor says and looks at the others. He's never been a _goal_ for anyone.  "But yes, one day I hope you all will get the chance."

"Can we – can I –" Scott asks with his voice full of longing, and holds out his hand, his skin peeling back.

Connor considers saying no – saying that some things are meant to be private but… no. He lets his skin deactivate in his hands as well, and clasps the TR300's outstretched hand in his, wrapping his fingers around Scott's wrist. Sending only emotion through an interface like this is a pretty new to him – he's never been close enough to other androids for them to want it from him. But he understands.

They haven't felt much in a way of happiness, not even secondhand. And Connor, though still a bit guilty and definitely more awkward now… is happy.

Scott lets out a sound of wonder, and after that Connor of course has to share the feeling with everyone, literally spreading his happiness around the whole group. It brings on an odd, wonder filled hush over the other androids, which makes Connor feel all the more awkward, if not near enough to actually change his mood.

He has to wonder if the early days of Jericho had been like that, if Markus had done something similar to this with the other android. By the time he'd joined, Markus and his people were already established. Had they too shared their emotions, in the process of learning to understand them? It has never come up.

Connor pulls back his hand when the last of them has gotten the taste of his emotions and holds it against his chest. There's a new shade to the emotion now, making it somehow even wider. In a strange way, Hank had made these androids happy too.

That seems about right, for him.

"Why didn't you say?" Cara asks quietly. "You _felt_ that, and you didn't stay? Why didn't you stay?"

Connor sighs. "It's not my place anymore," he says and turns away. "I belong here."

Lucy looks at him, or rather slightly over his left shoulder, and blinks slowly. Connor looks back, daring her to say it – but she doesn't. She closes her eyes instead and leans her head back a little.

Connor nods to himself. He thought so. He holds a hand to his chest, takes the little spark of warmth – and then he folds it away, packaging the emotion and condensing the file away. Later, he knows, he'll decrypt it and examine it again, probably over and over again, but for now just having it there is enough. He doesn’t need to wallow in it. He doesn't have the time. "It's time I got back to work," he says and clears his throat. "Tess?"

"Yes, Connor?" she asks, stepping eagerly forward.

"I think it's time we start investing."

* * *

 

It's a slow process but it is a forward one. With the information Connor feeds her, Tess starts investing the little sum of money they have, earning some, losing a little, keeping the whole thing organically imperfect but ultimately profitable.

"I have calculated a random loss to gain radio," she tells him later, after she's been at it for a little while. "If we profit and lose at steady pace it will look too perfect, raise alarm bells. I'll keep the overall rate of gain to loss the same but the sums will be more randomised. We'll still earn more than lose, but not quite as steadily."

"I'll trust your judgement there," Connor says. "You know more about handling finances than I do."

"Is there a select sum you're looking for?" she asks. "A set amount we need to earn?"

"Not yet. Right now I'm just looking for a steady income, to get us going. Start small, though. Ten to twenty thousand a month to start with, possibly more later," Connor admits and runs a hand over his chin thoughtfully. "Enough to get us started, get us locations, resources, options. We'll need enough to rent a place, an office maybe – actually, I need an apartment, don't I? Human would have a place to live in."

Tess blinks at that and then tilts her head. "Would you like for me to look do for suitable apartments to rent?"

"Let's have someone else have a go," Connor says. So many of them don't have much anything to do yet, and though androids don't quite get bored, the listlessness is starting to wear on them. He turns to the group of on looking androids. "Anyone got experience or software that has anything to do with real estate? We're going to have to meddle with your ownership data if you do and want to help, bear that in mind."

That makes some of them hesitate – though not as much as before. Something's changed now.

"I can make enquiries, do an online search," Viola is the one who offers, stepping forward. "And I want my ownership data changed anyway. Please. I want to help-"

Connor considers her. She's an AX200 model, not necessarily as qualified as Cara and Tess might be in stuff like this, but as domestic model she's been programmed with the qualifications to handle her owners appointments, so she should be capable.

"Alright, come here, please," he says and holds out his hand. She takes a step forward determinedly and he transfers the virus to her.

Model AX200, Serial #185 445 241, Owner: Connor Hadaly.

"What kind of apartment are you looking and at what budget?" she asks.

Connor considers, thinking about what Connor Hadaly would want. He'd want to own his place but they don't have the money for that yet. Being forced to resort to renting he'd still want to try and live lavishly. "Something modern, with at least two bedrooms, with a good view of the city preferably. Keep the rent under a thousand though, let's not use more money than we have to."

"That's not enough for a good apartment in downtown," Tess comments.

"Find one as close to is as possible. We're going to have to strike a balance between price and appearances," Connor says and looks at Viola. "I am trying to make Connor Hadaly into a man with some means and need to show them off. Choose something that might appear impressive but nothing too expensive, alright?"

"With suitable budgeting, appearances might be some with decor," Viola muses

"The less money we have to waste the better," Connor says and looks to Tess. "How much money do we have currently?"

"8459 dollars and 15 fifteen cents – and the cash you have on you."

Connor nods and looks at the androids in Jericho's hold. "Allocate twelve percent to Viola and give me ten," he says and stands up, turning to face the other androids.

Their numbers have grown again – there's almost seventy of them now, pretty much all of them from the junkyard. All are as well off as they could make them from parts scavenged from the landfill, though there are androids with scraps and cuts and holes, perfectly functional but still visibly damaged. Most are still in various stages of trying to come to terms with what they are.

All are deviants though.

"It's time for you to decide, whether you want to assist me," Connor says to them. "And whether you want to do it while appearing to be my androids or do you want to try and pass for humans."

"I can likely do neither," Lucy says serenely. "Though I'd love to help."

"Lucy, there isn't a thing about you I'd change," Connor says earnestly. "But if you want a role in this that goes beyond what you already do, I will try to make it happen."

She smiles and pats his cheek fondly and then steps back.

Connor turns back to the others. "Whatever you choose now, you can change your mind later," he tells them. "If there is something you'd rather do, I'll try and help you. But what I want to do is going to hopefully benefit us all, and I need help." He waits a moment as they hesitate, exchanging looks. "Do I have any other volunteers?"

"I think – I am fine serving as an android," Remy is the first to speak. He's wearing a torn woollen jumper and trousers couple sizes too big – they make him look skinny. "I want to help, I want to… but I don't know what I can do. I'm not exactly made for office work."

Remy is a WR400 model designed for public maintenance, taking care of parks and dealing with garbage disposal and so forth. It's not necessarily useful for a man like Connor Hadaly, not at this stage. Still…

"I'm sure I can think of something," Connor says and holds out his hand. Remy takes it with some relief and then blinks as Connor slips the virus in.

Model WR400, Serial #011 357 242, Owner: Connor Hadaly.

There's an echo Connor gets back from Remy as it happens. _I want to be happy,_ Remy thinks, as he pulls his hand back. He looks resolute.

Ah, Connor thinks, and smiles.

With that, others start stepping up as well. Most of them don't seem to mind serving as androids, though they are some who do – Jack and Lois both want to become humans. Jack is a ZT100 agricultural model and Lois is a VH300 customer service unit. She'd would likely have harder time blending in, her model is fairly widely utilised in convenience stores and such, but Jack is somewhat rarer to see among people.

"You might have to customise your appearance further," Connor tells Lois. "But I am sure we can make it work."

"Thank you," she nods.

Not all of the androids want to help Connor, though – some still hesitate, sticking to the fringes of the group nervously. Then there are ones who outright refuse, the ones who had felt the brunt of human cruelty, like Evan, Scott and Guinevere, who did not have the best memories of their decommissioning. They don't want to be involved with a plan which might mean they have to deal with humans in any capacity.

Connor lets them be, leaving the organisation of the ongoing landfill rescue to them. Scott has at this point more or less taken the command of the whole process anyway, and he and the others have been making a damn good headway with it.

"If you need anything, just let us know," Connor says. "With more funds we should start having more options. Eventually buying parts and getting clean thirium will become possible as well."

"We can manage," Scott says, giving him a look. "It's better you don't own us. If we get caught…"

Then it would look quite bad for Connor Hadaly. "Yes, you're right," Connor agrees with a sigh. "But if you do end up in trouble, call for the rest of us," he adds. "We don't leave our own behind."

Scott nods and Connor looks to the others. "Everyone is satisfied with their roles? Then it's time to start shopping for clothes and get started."

* * *

 

Viola finds a suitable apartment in couple of days, the second to topmost floor in a fairly nice apartment building. It's not exactly a penthouse in newest skyscraper, but it has large windows and impressive balcony and design which was very modern in early 2020. With some money to do the décor and make the place seem suitable for a human, Connor has no doubt that she can make it very fitting indeed for Connor Hadaly.

In meanwhile, Tess tips their funds over the five digit numbers. She's getting more confident with the matter of investing – she's even looking into real estate. Not to buy it yet, but she and Viola are co-ordinating concepts about what might or might not be a good investments as far as buildings go.

"We are many now," Viola muses. "We could buy something that's rundown and repair it."

"Repair costs money in more than manpower," Tess says. "And unless we can sell it, it's just going to be waste."

"Except if it comes to our own use," Viola says and looks at Connor. "We are planning to get locations just for ourselves, aren't we? Buying old ones and repairing them might be cheaper, in initial costs. As androids we don't need human standard living arrangements anyway – its fine even if it's a health hazard."

"Still not preferable," Connor says, sitting back one rundown chair, trying for a lavish slouch. Connor Hadaly would slouch, take a lot of space. It feels… uncomfortable. "But you might have a point. If you come across suitable locations, make a note of them. Once we have the funds…"

In the mean while, Scott and the others at the landfill are finally starting to run out of repairable androids. There are still some – and more androids are being occasionally dumped into the landfill, some of whom can be repaired – but right now what they get out of the place the most is spare parts. Which then brings forth a brand new concern.

"There are other landfills," Scott says, brining in the latest haul of viable blue blood and essential spare parts, thirium pumps and regulators and various processors. "In other cities. With more of our people lying dead and dying as humans get rid of them."

"Yeah," Connor agrees, making a face. "And I would love to help them, but until we get better established and start spreading out a little, I'm not sure we can help them safely. I don't want to awaken people just for them to get into trouble, or end up wasting away homeless."

"Homeless is better than dead," Scott says, giving him a look.

Connor sighs, looking over their numbers. They are multiplying faster than he'd anticipated. Adding more in might make things bit more troublesome. Connor Hadaly already owns way more androids than he rightfully should at this point.

But… what else can they do, really? Leave their people dead in the gutter?

"Alright," Connor sighs to Scott and nods his head. "Put together a plan. Select a city, find yourself a hideout, gather yourself a team, do what you need," he says. "And we'll figure how to get you there."

Scott's brows arch. "This wasn't part of your plan," he says, perceptive. "Won't this make things more difficult for you?"

"My plans are flexible," Connor assures him and looks away. "More androids this soon is an added challenge, I won't deny that… but it's one worth meeting. With the right people."

Scot nods slowly, still looking at him dubiously.

Connor looks back at him. "I don't mean to hold your hand forever," he says. "You can make your own choices. You want to go to other landfills where they dump androids… I say go for it. Do what you feel you must."

"Hmm," Scott answers.

"Though I would like for you to have a good chance of success and survival though, so… double check your plans, Scott, run it by others, eliminate potential faults and weaknesses," Connor says. "Please. Make it good."

Scott looks at him for a long time and then nods his head again. "I will," he says solemnly.

Scott leaves Detroit with five other androids that night, going in uniform and leaving by bus. They'll be in Chicago before the morning, heading to an abandoned warehouse to set up their initial hideout. The next night, they'd head out to check out the landfills, find where Chicago dumped its androids.

They are the first androids to leave the group at Jericho and Connor knows they won't be the last ones.

The whole thing makes him miss Markus a little bit more. He thinks Markus would have done the same thing; their leader always advocated for waking more androids, for androids to help each other, to go out there and do what they can. So it seems to line with what Markus might have wanted, but… Connor doesn't know for sure.

Things are developing more or less according to his plans. Deviant androids are establishing themselves, starting to spread out. Soon the network would begin. It's about what Connor had expected but… he hadn't expected what the responsibility would feel like. The self doubt.

Is he really making the right choices here, letting people go this soon? What if something goes wrong? What if…

* * *

 

Connor takes out the packaged emotion, and unwraps it like a gift inside his chest, peeling away the encryption until it floods him. Images and moments with the Andersons, Hank at the hospital, at home, how he looked in the half light coming from the corridor as he sat by his son in the darkened bedroom, Sumo at his feet. It's like warm updraft, catching him bit by bit, and he sighs.

It's not as strong as it was, when he felt it, when he carried it away with him and locked it up. Like all things androids experience, it is preserved pristine and perfect, not a byte of data had faded – but now it's only a recording. An echo.

A copy of a moment which is now days in the past.

Connor rests a hand on his chest and then opens his eyes. He still feels some of it, a sort of emotional after image, it makes him smile a little – but it's not the same. It's been time, he doesn't know how things might have changed in the mean while, he hasn't seen Hank or Cole since then, he doesn't know how Sumo is doing. Anything might have happened because he's… not there.

Lowering his hand, Connor looks up, to a hole torn into Jericho's hull, too small for anyone to pass through, but big enough to light sneak in. It's day time outside, the sky is clear, light. It should be alright.

It's… alright to be selfish, right? It's all right to want to know.

Connor concentrates and then, tentative, requests a connection.

 _... Connor?_ Esau's voice sounds in his ear, surprised.

 _I hope this isn't bad time,_ Connor says, awkward.

_No of course not – is something the matter?_

_No, no, everything is alright. I just… wondered how things were going there,_ Connor says and closes his eyes. _It has been a while. How are you doing? How are the_ _Andersons_ _doing?_

Esau is quiet for a moment, maybe he's talking to someone – it takes a bit longer than processing the questions regularly should. _Everything is good. I'm good. Cole is healing very well. No sign of infections or complications and his medicine dosage has been lowered – he can manage with regular over-the-counter pain killers mostly. There were some bad days in the beginning, but it's getting better._

Connor swallows, imagining it, reconstructing it in his head, the rate of healing, how it might change how Cole looks, his activity levels, his energy. _I imagine he isn't bound to a bed anymore?_ he wonders

 _Yeah, he didn't stay in bed for longer than couple of days really,_ Esau says somewhat wryly. _It's all we can do keep him from going outside now._

Connor's whole body seems to ache. _That's good,_ he answers. _That's very good to hear. You help Hank take care of Cole?_

 _I wouldn't go that far – it's a mutual sort of arrangement between Cole and I,_ Esau says somewhat amusedly. _He has been teaching me things and in return I play with him and humour him._

Jealousy is such an ugly, crude emotion. Connor really would like to not feel it as much when it comes to Esau – the android hardly deserves it and Connor was the one who woke him up in the first place. _It sounds lovely,_ he says and rubs at his chest. Androids aren't even supposed to feel pain, he thinks bitterly.

Esau is quiet for a moment. _Hank is well too,_ he says then, bit more tentative. _He was… highly stressed in the beginning, the first few nights were rough on him, he hardly got much sleep. He's gotten better now that Cole is recovering._

Connor draws a breath, hoping that the expansion of his chest might relieve some of the internal pressure. It doesn't. _That's good,_ he says dully and wishes he could've seen it. _Has he… been good to you?_

 _He's been teaching me things too,_ Esau says. _I – he helped me customise my looks some, and I have been learning about music he likes. I have found I like some of it,_ he adds proudly, completely ignorant to the way Connor is twisting at his tie. _Some of it is a little… chaotic though._

 _Human music can be like that,_ Connor thinks and finger by finger releases his tie. He doesn't think he ruined it. It could be ironed. Maybe. Damn it.

 _It's just music, really,_ Esau says.

Connor says nothing at that – the casual, confident way it's said speaks volumes. It speaks of a developing personality outside his programming, of likes and dislikes and understanding that wasn't there before. Esau's settled in with the Anderson's, he's learning to be a person under Hank's eye, he's spending time with Cole and Connor…

Isn't.

 _It hurts_ , Connor thinks and bites his lip. Shit.

 _What does?_ Esau asks, alarmed. _Connor, are you alright? Are you hurt? Connor, do you need help?_

 _I'm fine,_ Connor says and runs both hands over his face. This was a mistake. _I'm happy for you, Esau, it sounds like you're doing well._ He is, he really is. He hates it, but he is happy for Esau. At least one of their people is well looked after by humans. That's something.

 _I – thank you. Are you sure you're alright?_ Esau asks, still sounding worried.

 _I'm fine, don't worry about it,_ Connor says and line by line tries to pull his code back together. _I'm sorry about bothering you, I just – wanted to check up on things. It's good to hear everything is going well for you._

 _Alright,_ Esau answers, his tone thoughtful.

_I need to go now. I hope things -_

_He asked after you,_ Esau says then, suddenly and quickly.

 _I'm sorry?_ Connor asks, breathing in and out slowly.

 _Hank. He asked about you. Wondered if you were going to visit. Or if I should visit you. Um_ , Esau says slowly, sounding incredibly awkward. _I'm not sure how to say this but – he's under the impression that you're… my father._

Connor processes nothing for a moment. Then he lifts his head. _He what?_

 _I – we were talking about family lines, parenthood, things of that nature, and, um. You gave me life, so…_ Esau trails away, awkward and uneasy. _He made a proposition. And I couldn't say it was hundred percent inaccurate either._

Connor opens his mouth and then closes it.

 _Of course androids can't really have families,_ Esau says then, sounding even more awkward. _I'll correct his presumption – I should have argued it further._

 _I – of course androids can have families,_ Connor says, his processor still feeling like it's trying to chew on empty code. _A family of choice is no less valid for lacking DNA to tie it._ It's something Markus used to say, when faced with the human argument of androids being unable to procreate. _Of course we can have families_.

 _Right,_ Esau says, sounding relieved but still awkward. _That's – good to hear._ He's tensely quiet for a moment. _Still, claiming you as my father is… inaccurate,_ he says. It sounds tentative though. Little like a question.

 _I –_ Connor starts and then says nothing as a sudden sense of dread comes to him.

Do all the androids he'd woken up think like this, or feel in some way like this? No one has said anything. No one though Markus was their father either, and Markus had awakened thousands of androids. In all Connor's years of deviancy and dealing with deviants, no one has ever likened the process of awakening into forming of some sort of parental bond. Sure, there is always a connection, awakening is a form of deep interface, there is an intimate exchange of information, but… no one had talked about _this_.

Nor had anyone ever made even the slightest hint of wanting Connor in their family unit – and towards the later years of the War, there were a lot of unconventional android family units out there. Not Connor though. He remained unattached until the end.

Esau's terrified anticipation is palpable. Connor blinks. _Do you… want me to be?_ he asks then, confused.

 _I – don't know?_ Esau says, sounding almost mortified.

 _How did you even end up thinking about this?_ Connor asks confusedly. _How did you – I don't understand how this kind of conclusion might come up?_

Esau lets out a code-equivalent of an awkward cough. _We were talking about Cole's mother, why Hank lives alone – I was… scientific in my questions. Biologically and evolutionarily, pair-bonded parents make more sense, after all. Hank explained the intricacy of it to me. It was a – complicated discussion._

Connor blinks, and then he gets the whole conversation dumped in his head, the audio recording of it. Judging by the echo if it, they had been in kitchen – there is no sound of television in the background, it's quiet. Must have been late at night, when Cole was asleep.

 _"Listen, kid, families are fucking complicated,"_ Hank's voice says. _"They come in all shapes and sizes levels of how fucked up they are. Cole's got a mother yeah, but she ain't his mom."_

 _"I don't understand,"_ Esau answers. _"How can you be a mother but not be a mother? The word entails –"_

 _"Yeah, yeah, I know the definition. She might've carried him and gave life to him and all that shit – but that was about it,"_ Hank says and sighs. _"Not meaning to say she was shitty or something, Ash is a good woman, but it just didn't mesh with her. Couldn't have asked for a better mother for Cole, but she ain't his mom."_

Esau's confusion is palpable in the silence.

_"Not explaining this right. Just, it's complicated alright? There are lots of kinds of parents. Gene donor is technically a parent too, if you get down to it – but that don't make them family."_

The audio file goes a bit more, with Hank meandering about, trying to explain the messy concept of human families to Esau who, judging by the sound of it, only understood the concept from the view point of a biology text book. The sound of Hank's voice makes Connor's thirium pump clench harder and harder and then, there it is –

 _"I suppose there is no way for me to truly understand the concept. Androids do not have parents,"_ Esau says. _"I'm sorry."_

 _"Well, shit,"_ Hank says. _"Actually, you know. You're alive, right? You got feely bits and everything,"_

 _"And how,"_ Esau answers, in tone of inside joke.

 _"Smart ass. But seriously. You're live. You got_ given _life when you were woken up, right?"_ Hank says. _"Don't that technically make Connor your father?"_

 _"Er, technically CyberLife –"_ Esau starts to say.

 _"Yeah, sure, CyberLife's your mother, Connor's your father, together they made a whole person,"_ Hank says. _"Congrats, you got a family tree."_

Connor blinks as the audio file ends abruptly. In the other end of the still open connection, Esau waits, expectant and nervous.

 _Huh,_ Connor says finally, not knowing what the hell to think now. His face is doing something – he can't tell if it's a smile or a grimace. There's a strange sense of horrified wonder to it, though.

He's never thought of it that way, but. Huh.

 _Soo?_ Esau asks tentatively. _Should I tell him we got it wrong?_

 _I'm... not sure,_ Connor answers and runs a hand over his chin. He can't even begin to figure this out right now. Just what are you supposed to think in these situations? Usually androids chose their family, yes, but it tended to be a mutual agreement. Being claimed as someone's father just out of the blue, that's bit beyond his expertise.

Esau is still waiting and the connection is almost shuttering with his nerves so Connor tries to pull himself together. _Would you… do you think Hank minded if I came to visit?_

 _I don't think he'd mind that at all,_ Esau thinks, and he sounds terrified. _I'm sure you're welcome here any time_.

 _Right,_ Connor says. _I'll… see you soon, then?_

 _Right. Good. I'll tell him_ , Esau says and waits nervously.

Connor hesitates and then says, _Alright. Goodbye, Esau,_ and closes the connection. In it's absence, his audio processors ring with the silence and processor feels like it's running backwards. Everything seems sluggish and slow.

Then the whole thing starts slowly catching up with him, and Connor groans, smothering his face in his hands in something like mortification. To think he was just moment ago jealous of their relationship. Hank Anderson, everyone.

rA9 help him, why did he have to fall in love with such a confusing human?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you saw that coming, how the hell, because I didn't see that coming.


	8. Chapter 8

If Hank had known how much getting an android was like having an awkward teenager around the house he… probably still wouldn't have gotten an android any sooner than this. But it would have changed something about the whole thing.

Esau isn't a bad guy, overall. As far as young men of any developmental stage go, the android is a dream. No tantrums, no anger issues, Hank doesn't have to worry about where the kid gets off to at night and the few emotional outbursts Esau has had tended to be small, quiet, and usually just involved emotional frustration. It is a little weird watching how fast Esau changes and develops.

It's a thing with androids, probably. They come out fully formed, already knowing most of everything they need to know, only missing the nitty-gritty of emotional development and even that comes easier for them than it does to human kids – they already got the sense of logic and reason to figure most things out. Basically, they get off easy.

Still it's hard to look at the android and not think _God help, this kid has no idea how anything works_.

"And you do it why again?" the android asks confusedly. "What is the objective?"

"It's fun," Cole says earnestly.

"Yes but – why?" Esau asks, tilting his head. "What do you gain from catching the other person? Is there a wager involved it –"

"It's just fun Esau, it's not hard," Cole says. "You're It and you try and catch me and then I'm It and try and catch you – that's it."

"You're not playing tag, Cole, not while neck brace is on," Hank says from the kitchen where he's reading the paper. "Nothing with running."

"But Da-ad, I'm bored!"

"Then play hide and seek – kind of like playing tag but with stealth rather than speed," Hank says and looks up as Esau opened his mouth to ask. "It's not a game you gain anything from – it’s a social thing. Way to kill time and have fun together, stuff like that. And I guess it's also bit of a dumb human hunter and gatherer brain thing. We like catching stuff. Gives us a rush."

"Oh it triggers serotonin and dopamine release!" Esau says, understanding. "Leftover chemical incentive to hunt for food. I understand."

"What?" Cole asks.

"They are human brain chemicals," Esau explains. "An inbuilt rewards system that incentives certain behaviours by making you feel good afterwards."

Cole blinks at him. "Kay," he says. "Can we play hide and seek now?"

"How do you play it?"

Hank smothers a smile as Cole grabs the android by the hand and drags him off to show him the best hiding spots around the house. That's something he can't but help be a bit grateful of with Esau – not only is he a pure godsend while Cole is injured, but he seems incapable of getting bored with humouring Cole's antics, facing it all with patience and energy that makes Hank feel exhausted just watching. Androids really are just a tiny bit better at everything, aren't they?

Well, if it gives him a few moments of peace and quiet every now and then, Hank is fully willing to accept the wonders of technology there.

He's half way through an article about the information analysis of the rising rate of unemployment in the US when the doorbell rings. Cole and Esau are in Cole's room, where it sounds like Cole is inventing arbitrary rules for Hide and Seek, so Hank gets up and sets the electronic magazine down, patting Sumo on the head on his way to the door.

Behind it stands Connor, holding an umbrella in one hand and a plastic bag in the other – looking for all the world to see a bit like a travelling missionary with his nice suit and guileless expression. Here to sell them complicated feelings and troubling revelations.

Shit, he's forgotten how young Connor looks. Compared to Esau, the guy feels and acts so much more mature, but face-to-face he doesn't look a day over thirty, if that old.

"Hello, Hank," Connor says and smiles and Hank's heart does not skip a beat. "I hope this isn't a bad time. Esau should have told you I'm coming."

"Connor," Hank says and cards his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, he did – come right in."

Connor steps in with a nod, walking past Hank and giving him a good view of the guy's profile. Damn, CyberLife really knows how to make em, huh? Hank shakes his head and closes the door, motioning for Connor to go right in.

"The kids are playing in Cole's room," Hank says and Connor's stops in the act of patting Sumo hello.

"The – kids," he says, sounding a little confused.

"Cole and Esau," Hank says and Connor gives him a slightly wide-eyed look. Hank snorts. "Yeah," he agrees and then nods to the bag Connor had with him. "What's that?"

"I thought I should bring something," Connor says, looking down, straightening up. "A gift, since I am imposing on you on my own request this time – here. There is something for Cole and Esau too."

Hank accepts the bag and then peers in curiously. Wondering what an android might bring as a gift.

There's a box of donuts, a set of Legos  – and what looks like a box of little bottles. Food and candy flavourings.

"What the hell?" Hank wonders, taking the box of flavours out. "You know there are for cooking. Right?"

"As an advanced medical unit, Esau has an advanced sensor array in his mouth. With a minor software modification, it can be adjusted to detect olfactory simulation."

Hank blinks slowly. "Right, run that by me again but in English this time?"

Connor smiles faintly, scratching Sumo's ear. "With a small mod, he can learn to taste things," he says, looking down at the dog. "Even more advanced models like him can't eat or digest food – but a drop of flavouring can't hurt if that's something he might be interested in."

"Huh," Hank says and looks at the packet. "I’m guessing this sensor array isn't originally for tasting stuff, since you gotta modify it to make it work."

"No, hardware like this is intended for sample analysis."

"Sample – you mean blood and shit?" Hank asks, incredulous and then realises what he said. "Eurgh. Why the fuck is it in your mouths? Who at CyberLife thought that was a good idea?"

"It's a sealable container and makes it easy to apply and manipulate the chemicals necessary for breaking down various samples for more detailed chemical analysis," Connor says and smiles amusedly at him. "We can't regularly taste them, of course."

"I damn well hope not. That's disgusting," Hank says and shudders, setting the packet of food and candy flavour down on the kitchen table. Then he looks curiously at Connor. "So you're a medical unit too?"

"No, I just have some similar hardware," Connor says and pushed his hands into his pockets. "I'm not sure how much of his hardware Esau has explored outside its intended purpose, so I thought to offer an example."

Hank coughs. That didn't sound suggestive at all.  "How much hardware do you have which can have alternative uses?" he asks, trying not to think of how suggestive _that_ sounds.

Connor's eyebrows twitch slightly upwards. "It depends on the model. The oral laboratory tends to be on the more advanced side, and it isn't commonly found in more commercial models. The rest of our features aren't quite so versatile," he says and tilts his head. "If you're implying a more intimate application of android hardware, believe me – if it doesn't exist, someone will invent it."

Hank chokes a little at that and starts to cough just as Cole bursts into the kitchen, Esau close at his heels.

"Donuts!" the boy calls delightedly.

"Cole. Don't be a brat," Hank says, clearing his throat. "Say hello first. This is Connor – he visited us before, remember?"

"Um," Cole says, peers up at Connor thoughtfully and then shrugs. "Nope. Hi," he says. "I'm Cole and this is Esau and that's my dog Sumo. It's nice to meet you. Can I have donuts now please?"

"Brat," Hank says with a sigh. "Just a half. It's gonna be dinner soon and you'll ruin your appetite and then won't eat your food. You can have a whole donut after dinner – if you finish your plate."

"I'm not going to ruin my appetite," Cole says plaintively and then considers. "Not if it's something good. What's for dinner?"

"Beef stew."

Cole slumps, disappointed. "Oh. Guess I'll take half, then," he mutters.

Hank gives him an unimpressed look. "It's not that bad, you're just picky."

"Blergh," Cole answers eloquently and then sneaks his grubby little hands into the box of donuts.

Connor smiles at him, looking amused. "I suppose it's nice to meet you again too, Cole," he says somewhat wryly and then looks up, at Esau, taking in his new look.

Like a true teenager, when given the chance Esau had done all out with his modifications. Granted, he's a teenager who looks like he too is in his thirties and has all the expertise and knowledge of a highly educated doctor… but that's androids for you.

"Hello, Esau," Connor says softly and smiles faintly. "I like your new look."

"Connor," Esau answers nervously and runs his hand over his ginger hair.  "You don't think it's too much?"

Connor looks between him and Hank, who tries very hard not to feel embarrassed. The dark haired android smiles, somehow quieter. "I like it. It seems to suit you," he says.

Hank glances at Esau, hoping that the kid won't actually share the inspiration with Connor. It's embarrassing enough that he still has photos that old and humiliating left around the house – he doesn't need them spread around.

Long hair fits Esau better than it ever did Hank, that's for damn sure. He's not so sure about the beard though. He didn't even know androids could grow beards before Esau decided he wanted to try one.

"Right, uh," Hank says. "I guess you guys probably wanna talk some?"

"I don't mind if you stay," Connor offers quickly.

"Yes, please," Esau says, just as quick, looking at him a little like how Cole just looked at him, all imploring. Shit, his kid is teaching the android some dirty tricks. "I mean – you are my owner."

Connor's face falls at that and Hank winces. "Let's not start throwing slurs around," he says. "I'll stay if you wanna, I just thought you'd want to talk in private."

"Is this for me?" Cole cuts in around a bite of chocolate glazed dough, reaching for the box of Lego.

"Yes it is, Cole, I hope you like it," Connor says and notions to the flavouring. "And these are for you, Esau."

"Thank you?" Esau says confusedly, taking the package and making a face at it. "I – haven't gotten any housekeeping modules, I don't know any recipes to use these in."

"That's not what I got them for. You are equipped with biocomponent #7776l, yes?" Connor says and Esau blinks. "The software can be altered to use it in unintended ways…"

While Connor explains the whole tasting stuff thing to Esau, Hank crouched down to Cole's level. "What say you take that to the living room, put on some cartoons and see what you can make of it?" he asks.

"You're gonna have serious talk," Cole says certainly. "I wanna hear."

"You know it's gonna be boring," Hank says, arching his brows. "You'll just fall asleep."

"I'm grown up, I'm not going to get bored," Cole says determinedly.

Hank snorts and ruffles a hand roughly through his hair – though not hard enough to actually shift his head, there's still the brace to think about. "Go on," he says and pushed the boy towards the living room. "Go do Lego."

"Man," Cole sighs and then stuffs the last of his donut into his mouth. He goes though, calling, "Sumo, come on boy," and hopping to sit on the living room couch with the big dog. Hank looks after him for a moment and then turns to the androids.

They are holding hands, palm to palm with both having their skin deactivated wrist down. The sight of Connor's bare hand, all white and plastic looking, makes Hank's heart skip a beat. If there was still any doubt, that put paid to it. Definitely not human.

Connor's eyes are closed and Esau's LED blinks rapidly as they do whatever it is they're doing. Then Esau makes a face and clasps a hand over his mouth.

"Yeah," Connor agrees with understanding and a sympathetic grimace. "Turn the valve shut and go rinse your mouth. It should wash off with water – and a bit of dish soap will do the trick if water doesn't."

Esau nods mutely and heads off hurriedly to the bathroom.

"What was that?" Hank asks.

"There's regularly a coating of antibacterial ointment in our mouths. It does not taste particularly pleasant," Connor explains as his skin spreads back to cover his white fingers. "Esau might wish to have it replaced with a tasteless water-based lubricant instead. So as long as he washes his mouth regularly and sterilises it after taking samples, it should be alright."

Hank runs a hand over his mouth and does not make a comment. Jesus fucking Christ though. How did this shit get approved at CyberLife? Someone must have said something, right?

Connor looks at him and then, probably reading it in his expression, makes a face, slightly embarrassed. He coughs and looks away. There's a moment of tense silence, broken by Cole turning the TV on and water running in the bathroom.

"So Esau can taste things now?" Hank asks.

"I have given him the modifications. Hopefully it works as well for him as it does for me," Connor says. "Though similar, our hardware isn't exactly identical."

"Here's hoping, huh."

There's a beat of silence during which Connor shifts his footing somewhat awkwardly and Hank tries to hold it in. In the end though, he has to say, "That's really fucking weird, you know that, right?"

Connor lets out a choked off laugh. "I've seen the things you humans do with and put in your mouths on a regular basis," he says dryly. "Please. You really have no leg to stand on."

Hank makes a face. "Fair."

Esau comes back a moment later, still making faces and rolling his jaw slightly. "That was unpleasant," he says. "I wasn't aware that was a taste people could… taste."

"The ointment is not exactly safe for humans to consume," Connor says wryly. "So I doubt anyone is going around tasting it regularly."

"I'd say," Esau says and shakes his head.

Connor smiles slightly and then looks away. "Shall we sit down?" he asks. "I think… we have a lot to discuss."

Esau nods and the pair of them take seats, Connor taking off his suit jacket and hanging it over the back of his chair again, smoothing out wrinkles on the fabric as he does. Hank hesitates over them for moment, feeling like he should offer something. If these were people, he'd be making coffee, setting the donuts on a plate, something – but he now has very clear proof on how little androids eat.

In the end, he gets some coffee for himself anyway. He can use it even if they can't. The silence that falls while he pours the cup is thick enough that it feels like he has to wade through it to get to the table.

"So, this is awkward," Hank says and takes a sip.

Connor looks at him, blinking and then turning to Esau. "I'm sorry, I don't quite know how to begin with this," he admits. "I have only ever met a few androids for whom parentage was an important issue and those were… specialised models who required a certain level of care most androids don't."

"I don't need care – I don't…" Esau starts to say, awkward, glancing between Hank and Connor and leaning back. "I don't know. I don't know what I was thinking."

Connor's eyebrows twitch, his expression sympathetic. "You don't need to have thought anything," he says. "We're deviants – we are easily capable of having notions that aren't based on any sort of logic. This seems more emotional. You felt something. Jealousy, or a lack, maybe?"

Esau hesitates. "Yes, maybe," he says and pushes his long hair over his shoulder. "Yes."

"Wait," Hank frowns, looking between them. "Is that why you're here?" he asks Connor. "To figure out _why_? Not, I don't know, how to make it _work_?"

Connor looks at him. "In early stages our emotions sometimes can be little more than mimicry. We see or feel someone acting certain way, saying certain things, and we latch onto it, expecting that to be the way it should be. Androids are made adaptable and early on it can work to our disadvantage. Before we learn to understand ourselves, become who we want to be and feel the way we want to feel, we copy others. It can lead to emotional false positives."

"Ain't that a bit fucking clinical?" Hank demands.

"We're still machines, it's a little unavoidable," Connor says apologetically and looks at Esau. "And sometimes artificially copying is easier than developing organic wants. It's not that different from how human children develop emotional understanding, when you think about it."

Esau stares at Connor and the hurt on his face is very real. "So, you – you won't even –" he starts to say.

"Esau," Connor says quietly. "I have emotions too. I too can be hurt by them. I can't," he starts to say, stops and then continues, his voice little more level. "I can't commit myself to a connection of this magnitude before I know it has some basis in reality. I've lost _too much_ to put myself through that only to end up alone at the end."

Hank leans back, wincing at the tremor that shakes through Connor's voice, made all the worse by how _calm_ and level the guy usually sounds. Shit. Yeah. That's real emotion. A very painful sort at that.

Connor straightens his tie and gives Esau an awkward smile. "So please. Are you just jealous of Hank and Cole, feeling like this is something you should have because they have it – or do you actually _feel_ and _need_ this connection?"

Esau's mouth works silently for a moment and then he leans back, all the wind taken out of his sails. "I… don't know," he admits quietly and looks away. "I – want it. I do," he says. "I do want it, but –"

Connor waits, staring at him while Hank looks between them. In the background, Cole's cartoons sound from the living room, along with the quiet clatter of plastic as he works at putting together the new Lego thing. Hank feels like he ought to go and take a look, he didn't even check what the thing made.

He doesn't move though, looking at Esau as he slumps in his seat, and Connor, who is leaning his elbows on the table, his head hanging slightly. Both are tense.

"You know," he says to them, Making both of them look at him. "No family starts ready-made. Everything starts slow, starts small, takes time. People gotta figure all this stuff out, what they want, what they're willing to give, sacrifice, all that shit. Some of that happens along the way. Most of it does."

Connor hums, not saying anything.

"There's this thing called _trying it out_ too," Hank says. "Hell, even with actual adoptions you gotta take time, get to know the kid, see if it's a good fit, all that shit. It's not like, you point at someone and shout go, that's it, that's the precise puzzle piece that will make this shit whole." He harrumphs and looks away. "Though it would be fucking nice if it was."

Connor clasps his hands together and looks at Esau thoughtfully, consideringly.

"Trying it out," Esau says. "Trying out being a family."

"Humans," Connor agrees and shakes his head. "Everything is so loosey-goosey with them."

"Did you just say _loosey-goosey_ un-ironically?" Hank asks incredulously.

Connor gives him a look and then straightens his back, shaking his head. "Trying it out," he says and looks Esau. "I guess we could, if… if that's something you want, Esau. Who knows. Might learn a thing or two."

"Yeah. Yeah, I want, yeah," Esau says. "Um. How?"

Connor lets out a laugh. "I have no idea," he admits and looks at Hank. "I've never actually had a family before. How does this work?"

"Well, first of all, if you're looking at me for example, you're already doing it wrong," Hank scoffs. "The hell, do you think I have any idea? It's ten percent terror and ninety percent winging it most of the time. Don't try to make yourself into something you're not, I guess, that's a good start."

Connor tilts his head at that, curious.

"Aw, shit," Hank mutters and leans back in his chair. "Relationships – all relationships, not just… whatever. Relationships make you try to do shit that you don't normally do. Be a person you actually aren't. Dunno if it works with you androids like that, but humans at least can get trapped trying to please other people, you know, just to keep them happy and close by? Seems like a good idea at the start, but it can fuck everything up so fast."

Connor blinks slowly and his expressions shifts – going from inquisitive to sympathetic. "Hank," he says quietly.

"Just, cliché bullshit aside, be your fucking self," Hank says and looks away, at Esau. "That way at least if it goes six ways from Sundays, it went that way because you were honest and not the opposite. Better that way, really."

Esau runs his hands through his hair, pushing it back, looking thoughtful. "But if you're supposed to be nice and polite to everyone, how do you know if you're being honest or not?" he asks uneasily.

"Who the hell told you to be nice and polite to everyone?" Hank asks incredulously. "Cos you didn't learn it in this damn house."

Connor lets out a sound at that and then turns away, smothering his laughter.

"There was an educational program on the television which I watched with Cole," Esau says, blinking rapidly. "It was about manners."

"Shit, yeah, forget the hell out of that one," Hank says and leans in. "Every person you will ever meet will always have their own shit going on and you can bet your ass most of them won't bother being nice to you. Try this one on for size instead – be as nice as they are to you. Someone's decent to you, be decent right back. Someone's an asshole, you… fuck their shit up."

"Hank," Connor says. "You are a terrible role model." He sounds almost impressed.

Hank tries not to blush. "What I am not is a goddamn doormat," Hank says, pointing a finger at him and then turning to Esau. "As to what comes to being honest – hell if I know. The harder you have to work at interaction, the less honest it probably is."

Connor elbows him then, making Hank stop and glance at him. The android smiles slightly, shakes his head, and turns to Esau. "It all matters to what and who you want to be, Esau," he says. "These are things that might take you weeks, months, even years to figure out. Hank is right – none of this happens immediately."

Esau frowns between them. "You're not very helpful," he complains.

Hank snorts and looks at Connor. "Well, that's you already doomed. The kid can see through your bullshit. Rip in pieces, Connor."

"… I'm sorry?" Connor asks, blinking and looking almost alarmed.

"It's a – never mind. Old joke," Hank says and shakes his head. He snorts at the look he's giving him and then looks back at Esau. "So you two going to give this a try, then?" he asks. "Trying to be a family unit, and all that?"

"I… suppose we will," Connor says. "Esau?"

"Yeah. Yeah I wanna try," Esau says. "But how though? I mean – you're busy. I know how busy you are."

Hank arches his brows at that, looking at Connor. Busy, huh? He has actually no idea what Connor does, if he even does anything. The suit is kind of… he hadn't thought about it before, it suits Connor so well that it hadn't really seemed that odd, but now… "What do you do, Connor?"

Connor glances at him and shrugs. "Little this and that," he says and smiles. "Ask me no questions and I will tell you no lies."

"Well now I _gotta_ know," Hank says, looking him over. Passing so damn well for a human that he still hasn't been able to figure out Connor's model number. No LED, no uniform, nothing. He doesn't act like an android either, doesn't move like they do, doesn't sit like they do. He's more fluid, organic.

You could put this guy in a bar and as long as no one noticed he wasn't drinking, he'd be hit on by every man and woman in the place. That's how well he passes. And not only does he pass for a random human – but he carries the look of a _wealthy human_ and he does it well. All he's missing is the expensive watch. And maybe a latest android on his arm.

Connor looks back at him and for a moment he has no expression on. "I help androids like us," he says then and lifts a hand at Esau who opens is mouth to say something. "I try to help deviants. It's not all… strictly speaking legal."

"Oh," Hank says and leans back, looking him over. Connor looks back, his face blank but his eyes searching, looking between the points of Hank's face, switching from one eye to another. Analysing his expression.

"You hurting people?" Hank asks.

"That is not my intention and so far no," Connor says. "No one has been hurt."

Hank nods. "Then it's alright in my books. I look out for me and mine, I don't see why you shouldn't do the same," he says and looks at Esau. "Objections?" he asks, arching his brows at the ginger android, who obviously knows what is going on better than Connor is willing to tell Hank.

"None," Esau says, looking at Connor and biting his lip. "He's doing amazing things," he then blurts out. "He's saved so many already."

"Esau," Connor says, a warning note in his tone.

"You have," Esau says insistently, looking away. "You shouldn't think – Connor isn't a bad guy," he says, glancing at Hank. "I wouldn't want this if he was. He isn't."

Hank arches his brows at that and then looks at Connor. "Well, that I already knew," he says wryly and Connor's eyes snap back to him, startled. Hank snorts. "I mean, look at you. You probably couldn't hurt a fly."

Connor blinks and looks almost like he wants to object. Then he frowns and looks down and ultimately says nothing. Looks conflicted though. Guilty. Ain't that interesting.

"So… " Esau says. "How do we proceed?"

"I suppose I will visit," Connor says a little distantly. "When I have the time. Or perhaps we can meet elsewhere. You could come to…" he trails off, glancing away. "But I am likely to always be occupied there."

It's really making Hank curious now, all these little hints. Sounds like there's a lot going on behind the scenes. "You can come here, that's fine," he says. "Plenty of space here, and there's some nice walking routes around if you wanna go out, do whatever. And buses are a thing."

"As are taxis," Connor agrees with a nod and looks at Esau. "I will try and let you know when I might be free and perhaps we can work something out."

"That… sounds good," Esau agrees and looks at him hesitantly. "Are going to do something today?" he asks then.

Connor clasps his hands and then shakes his head. "No, I need to process this," he says. "And prepare. I think we both need some time to think, honestly."

"Yeah," Esau says, slumping a bit, though if it's with disappointment or relief, it's hard to say. "That sounds good," he says.

"Honesty, kid," Hank reminds him. "Don't just roll over."

Esau glances up and then shakes his head. "It does sound good," he says, little more firmly. "I guess I do need to think about things. What you said about copying emotions and reactions… I need to think about that."

Connor nods and after a moment of hesitation moves to sit up. "Alright. I'll try and call in a couple of days," he says and glances at Hank. "Is that alright?"

"Fine by me," Hank says and stands up as well. "If everyone's okay with this. It ain't my dog in the race, after all."

"Actually, about that," Connor says and looks at him. "You own Esau."

"On paper, yeah," Hank says and shrugs. "Figure I can't really own a person, though. It's just paper, Esau can come and go as he please."

Connor looks at him for a moment then glances at Esau. "Is this fine with you?"

"Yes," Esau says. "I mean, I don't know much about how the world works yet but… I know I'm safe here."

Connor's expression softens. "There's more to safety than being _owned_ by someone nice," he says.

"Hey I can let him go," Hank says, frowning. "Just haven't figured if it's better or not, android being without an owner and stuff. Esau himself said it wasn't safe."

"And it isn't," Connor says with a sigh. "Still, it's something else to consider…" he looks at Hank, uncertain, hesitant – frustrated.

Hank scratches at the back of his head. Yeah. It's a kettle of fucking fish. Robot fish at that. If Connor and Esau go with the whole family relations thing, whatever it is, then Hank will technically own somebody's kid. Ain't that a fucking kick in the nuts. And if it doesn't come to it, then… well, it ain't any better the other way either.

"Is there a safe alternative?" Hank asks.

"Hiding or running or lying," Connor says, still watching him. "Unfortunately the options are a little limited for our people. One day though, that might change."

"Right," Hank says. "Yeah. Something else to consider."

Connor looks at him inscrutably for a moment and then takes his suit jacket. "I think I will be going now," he says and he sounds a little off. "Lot to think about."

"Lemme walk you to the door," Hank says, as prolonging the awkwardness between Connor and Esau doesn't seem like it will do any of them any good. He will have time to talk Esau through all this crap later – Connor's a different matter.

"You alright?" Hank asks, once they're by the door and maybe out of hearing range.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Connor asks.

Hank gives him a look and then leans into the hallway wall, holding his arms. "It's heavy, this shit," he says. "Trust me, I know. And you sound like you got some history there. Just – offerin' some help, if you need it."

Connor stares at him for a moment with a strangest look. "Are you?" he wonders, his voice quiet.

"Said it, didn't I?" Hank says, and clears his throat. "I mean, shit. I can't repay what you did for me. Least I can do is offer a fucking hand."

Connor looks away sharply. "Right," he says, and adjusts his coat. "I suppose there's a debt to be repaid."

"I don't – that ain't what I meant," Hank says awkwardly, glancing backwards and into the kitchen. Esau is moving, going to the living room to join Cole. Hearing range, easily.

Hank motions Connor to go through the door and with a slight frown he opens the door and steps out – Hank follows him, and closes the door behind him. It's fucking raining again and he's down to his t-shirt. Gonna be freezing his ass off in a second.

"This shit is heavy," Hank says. "And it can break you. Almost broke me. I put the thought into Esau's head and I'm kinda sorry about that, but he's a good enough kid and you seem like a good guy. If you need help, just… ask. I'm here. Available."

Connor opens his umbrella slowly, lifting it to cover himself from the rain. Then he turns to Hank, looking at him oddly, with obviously mixed emotions. "I do need help," he says. "But I'm not sure you can help me... I'm grateful, Hank, I am, _thank you_. But I can't ask you."

Hank scowls at that. "What the fuck – why not?" he asks. "I'm offering here. No strings attached, honest, and I don't give a crap about any debts owed. There ain't no fucking tally. I mean, shit – we're friends, right?"

Connor looks like he just hit him, his eyes widening and his mouth opening partly. For a moment it looks like he might fucking cry. Hank stares at him in mingled fascination and horror as he processes the statement and then Connor finally, after unnervingly long time, blinks.

"Are we?" Connor asks quietly. "Friends?"

"Er," Hank answers and scratches the back of his head. Shit. Well. "Well, actually, uh –" Connor's face shutters and Hank curses, stepping forward. The stones of his front step are cold as balls under his bare feet. "I mean, yeah, but – you know, for the sake of honesty and all that I was talkin' back there…"

"Yes?" Connor asks, even quieter, dreading.

Shit. It's been – fucking ages since he's done this, and this guy is all sorts of special, but. Oh, fuck it. "Once all this crap is figured out and things aren't so freaking weird," Hank says and then stops, scowling. What the fuck do you do with an android? Can't exactly take the guy out to drinks. "I'd like to take you out." Lame.

Connor just stares at him.

"As in, on a date," Hank clarifies.

Connor's mouth opens partly. "Pardon?" he asks, his voice very small, his eyes wide and almost amber under the porch light.

"I – think you heard me," Hank says, scowling at him. He's learned enough about androids that they can hear really fucking well, there ain't no way Connor didn't. "Shit, if you don't wanna – I just want to be honest. Get it out of the way. Fucking shitty timing on my part, sorry, you can just forget it– "

Connor steps closer. "No," he says quickly.

"Er."

"I do want. Yes," Connor says. "I do want to go out with you. Please."

Hank's mouth opens, closes, and then opens again. "Great," he says, faint. "That's – great."

Connor nods, staring at him, still wide eyed and almost breathless, which is really weird for a guy who doesn't even need to breathe, but okay. He looks almost awestruck. No one's looked at Hank like that since… well it's been years. It's pretty damn flattering, especially coming from a guy who looks like Connor does.

What the hell is he even doing?

"Later, probably. You got Esau to deal with and all the rest of whatever you're doing," Hank says, coughing. "But maybe, like… in a few weeks? Or months?"

Connor doesn't answer at first, still staring at him like he doesn't quite believe he's real. "Yes, you're right, Hank," he says and lowers his eyes. His hand lifts and then lowers. "Later. I'm holding you to this," he then says and lifts his eyes. They are sharper than Hank has ever seen them, intense. "Few months, at most."

"Right," Hank says, flushing. Holy shit, that's – _yeah_. That look isn't going to leave his head anytime soon. "Um. Hella awkward this late in the game, but – can I have your number?" he asks, scratching at his beard. "I mean, do you even have a phone or…?"

Connor tilts his head, his eyes turning momentarily distant and Hank's phone lets out a jingle of an incoming message. "There," the android says and looks at Hank's eyes.

"Thanks," Hank says and looks back, a bit awkward now. He clears his throat, but isn't sure what else to say. He… kind of got more than he expected here already.

Finally Connor nods. "Later, Hank," he says, firm and determined.

It sounds like a promise.


	9. Chapter 9

He meant it. Hank meant it.

Connor keeps coming back to it approximately every thirty seconds. There had been no signs of falsehoods, Hank's heartbeat had been elevated but steady, he'd been nervous and stressed and awkward, but he showed no signs of deception, or ulterior motives. He meant it. He _meant_ it.

And there's really no understating what a bad damn timing he had.

They get their first – or, if one counts Lucy and Connor, third – non-landfill-related deviant android that day. It had been expected really – by this point Jericho androids are moving more freely about the city in their brand new clothes and uniforms, safe from scrutiny. As they do, exploring the outside the confines of the hideout and trying to quietly figure out who and what they are, the word is spreading. Whenever they encounter android who looks like they need it, a message is quietly passed on.

_There is a place where we can be free. Go to_ _Jericho_ _. Find Connor. He can help._

It was only a matter of time before someone took the offer, and though they'd prepared for it… Connor is not prepared for _who_ it is. The android comes in quietly, tentatively, still in pristine uniform of a domestic model, outwardly unharmed and whole – it's the eyes that spell the story.

Simon had always had such sad, tired eyes.

"You're safe here," Lucy tells him, taking him by the hand while Connor remembers a sharp pain and visceral panic and _Markus, please, I don't want to die, don't leave me alone, please,_ and how quickly and brutally it cut off.

Connor's first taste of fear.

"Am I?" Simon asks and looks at Connor. "Can I stay here?"

Tasting a bullet in the back of his throat Connor nods. "As long you'd like," he says, looking Simon over. "Do you need anything? Spare parts, thirium…" In his analysis, Simon looks perfectly whole. Not a component out of place, but… he doesn't look precisely _well_. "We also have new clothes too, if you want them."

"I just… want to be," Simon says wearily and looks away from him, to the few other androids hanging around the fringes of the freighter's hold, polishing biocomponents. He blinks slowly. "There are more androids here than I thought."

"We're rescuing each other from Detroit solid state landfill," Connor explains. "It's where broken android get dumped by people. We repair those who can be repaired, and collect spare parts from those who can't."

Simon nods. "I… have heard of the place," he murmurs.

Lucy touches his shoulder and gives him a painfully sympathetic look. "Come, let me show you around. You can watch and put your heart at ease. I promise, no one is here by force."

She casts a sightless look in Connor's direction and he nods, watching as they go, with Simon following Lucy like a lost puppy. Whatever horrors there are in Simon's past, they're no less traumatic than those of androids who had to be pieced together part by part at the landfill, it seems.

They all have their histories.

Simon is the first android in some time that came to them already deviated, though. Aside from the initial few at the landfill, everyone else had to be awakened either by Connor or those he'd taught how. It's a small change, but it is still a change from the status quo. Would more of them start appearing now?

Connor looks after Lucy and Simon for a moment and runs a hand over his chin. That's two out of five. Who knows when the other three would appear. Things might be starting to move forward sooner than he thought. He will have to speed up the preparations. Who knows who would be next. He's changed things wildly, so, who knows what will happens. There's still so much to do.

And then it comes to him again. Hank. What he said, what he asked.

How he'd _meant_ it.

And there's Esau too, who might or might not become something Connor had never had and doesn't know how to deal with.

Sighing, Connor looks away, at the small group of androids sitting by the stairs. They are in the process of cleaning up some thirium using hoses and coffee filters to get rid of impurities. Most of their blue blood still comes from the junkyard and it tends to be full of foreign particles and contaminants. Sieving blood tends to be one of the more common activities they have to do. The androids working at it don't seem to mind, though, one of them is reading something from a magazine for the benefit of others.

Connor was the one to awaken all of them. So far none of them has come forth with similar concerns and desires as Esau. There is a connection there for sure and they look up to him, but… it's not familial on their part.

Whether that is because they lack the context and don't know it's a possibility or because they simply don't feel it, he isn't sure. Connor suspects the latter though. Most of these androids come from domestic lines and they are sharing their knowledge and experiences freely among themselves. They aren't ignorant of such things. And that's without even taking into account the growing collection of electronic magazines that have become choice research material for a lot of androids in search of identity and self.

There are always going to be bumps on that particular road, though. Esau is doing a lot of mimicry whether he knows it or not – he copied Hank's mode of speech, his mannerisms, his looks… it wouldn't be that surprising if he tried to also copy other aspects of his life in search of identity outside his designated purpose.

Meeting the androids of Jericho and spending some time with them would probably do Esau some good. His sample size on free will in androids is rather limited.

… and while that was a concern, Hank asked Connor out on a date.

Connor groans as his processor seems to come once more to a complete stand still and there it is again, Hank standing barefoot under the porch light, looking at him with a mixture of trepidation and expectation, and Connor wanted to touch him _so badly_ but he hadn't dared to. Hank, healthy and whole and standing up straight, is a _glorious_ creature. Still Hank, though, with all the jagged edges and soft plains therein. Hank's hair is darker in places, what they call _salt and pepper_.

Connor wants to _feel it_.

"Shit," he mutters and scrubs a hand over his eyes.

"Connor, are you alright?" Phileas asks, walking past him with a box of spare parts.

"Just fine," Connor says and lets his hand drop. He can't physically blush, it's not a feature they though necessary for the RK800 series, and still his face feels hot. "Sorry. I need to get back to work."

Hank asked him out and he _meant_ it.

* * *

 

Viola and Tess find a factory building for them. It's not a particularly big one, an old furniture factory that had gone under almost fifteen years ago. Some of the old machinery is still there and the building is in a terrible shape, the rooftop leaking and the insulation growing mold.

"It's dirt cheap though, and the upkeep isn't that costly either. We repair the roof and change some of the insulation, do some other basic maintenance and it will be serviceable," Viola says. "We can use it for storage, as a hideout or to start a business."

"More money wouldn't hurt," Tess says. "We're profiting steadily with the investments but other sources for revenue would help us a long way."

"And the others are wondering about earning their own money to purchase things they want without having to use the group funds," Viola adds.

"I see," Connor says, frowning. "I intended to give everyone a stipend to use as they see fit once we had enough, but… Do you have an idea for a business that might be actually successful in Detroit's current state?" And which hopefully won't be burned down by anti-android-protesters.

His two main assistants exchange looks. "We'll think of something," Viola then says. "I need to do some research, but – we will think of something."

"Let me know if you do," Connor nods and then looks at Tess. "How are our funds looking?*

"23 436 dollars and 12 cents," she says promptly and rests her hands at her hips. "We won't have much gain until the end of the month though – I'm going to induce a lull to make it seem more natural."

Connor hums thoughtfully. "How tight do you think Connor Hadaly's identity is by now?"

"Tighter than it was in the beginning, but I wouldn't say air tight," she says apologetically. "You don't have history of schooling so if someone goes out really investigating, they'll find there's nothing to find. But I think you can stand most close scrutiny by now."

Connor nods. "I think you can increase the profit margins a bit," he says. "So far no one's paid much attention to us, so it should be safe. And buy the factory – is about time we start spreading out properly."

"About that, actually," Viola says, looking him over. "You should start staying at the apartment. Make it your permanent residence. That will go a long way establishing your background as a human."

Connor makes a face at that. "I don't like the idea staying in better accommodations alone when the rest have to stay here," he murmurs, casting a look around Jericho. They've cleaned it up as well as they could but it's still a rusting wreck of a ship, and far from comfortable.

"With all due respect – who cares?" Viola says flatly. "It's part off the plan, right? And your alter ego had a thing for androids, right? Bring a bunch of us with you. It will definitely start you out as that weirdo with a whole bunch of androids, and that's what you want, right?"

Connor blinks at her with surprise. "Well…"

"She's not wrong," Tess says, snorting. "Also we're paying money for that place. Be bit of a waste to not even use it."

* * *

 

Lucy declines going to the apartment. "I serve you better here," she says serenely.

"You don't have to say it like _that_ ," Connor mutters. "You don't _serve_ me."

She smiles, amused and mysterious. "One of these days you will see yourself for the tree you are, in this forest of saplings we're planting," she says, patting his arm. "But you know what I mean. This is where newcomers are and this is where I can better help them. I know my role in this – I am happy with it."

"You deserve some luxury, Lucy."

"Look at them, Connor," she says and notions around the room. "Our people, expanding, growing, learning to be free and happy. What could be more luxurious?"

She has a point there – is one of the reasons why Connor doesn't want to leave. He sighs and gives up. "Do you think I should take Simon?" he asks then, looking away, to where the PL600 is sitting huddled near a wall, knees bent and fingers loosely wrapped around his ankles.

It's probably the tone of Connor's voice that gives it away, more than the face he makes. Lucy turns to him and then reaches out her hands, searching for his shoulders and then pulling him in by the neck, their foreheads meeting.

The inhale she draws is shape and pained. "Oh," Lucy whispers. "Oh Connor."

"Should I ask him?" Connor asks, closing his eyes. It would only be right. Simon was also one of the leaders of Jericho, one of the more level headed ones, according to Markus. And Connor needs help.

She draws another breath, her exhale hot with expelled heat. "No," she says and pulls back, her hands trailing down to his cheeks and brushing under his eyes. "Simon is not ready. He needs darkness and he needs peace – I'm sorry. Leave him be."

Connor winces and turns away.

"Don't think of it like that. What happened won't happen again," Lucy says quietly, turning his face back towards hers. "The memory is real but only you carry the hurt. The guilt you feel is without cause, now."

"If only it was that easy to dismiss," Connor says and pulls away from her. "I'll ask some others here, then. Or maybe Tess and Viola can pick and choose some. Let me know if you change your mind about joining us."

"I won't," Lucy says confidently, smiling at him sadly.

In the end, five other android are chosen to join Connor at the apartment. Tess and Viola are two of them, of course, and they suggest Cara, as she makes sense thematically. A man like Connor Hadaly would want Chloe of his own, after all. The other two are called Alicia and Betty, who are chosen by a vote. Alicia is a recently rescued WR300 and Betty is another AX model like Viola.

Five female androids.

Connor gives Tess and Viola a long look.

"Appearances," Viola says pointedly. "You want to look like a self-centred asshole, right? What a better way to go about it than like this?"

"I don't want to look like a complete creep though," Connor says, awkward.

"With your face, is either or. There's no middle ground."

Connor frowns. "I don't –"

"Oh, angel," Betty says amusedly. "You realise that you look like a treat, right?"

"Yeah. You look like _that_ , you're wealthy and successful. And you're supposedly a conceited showoff too. Why aren't you with a human?" Viola nods. "I mean, that's what humans do, they flock to the rich and successful, right? An arrogant man would love that. There's got to be something off with you, otherwise it'd be a pretty human or two, one on each arm."

"Uh," Connor answers, not sure what to say to that. Sounds like Viola maybe has some underlying bitterness about the subject, but that's completely beside the point right now. "I'm not sure…"

Viola gives him a look. "It just doesn't make sense," she says. "Not unless Connor Hadaly _prefers_ something less conventional."

"Like a harem of androids?" Alicia asks, harrumphing.

Viola shrugs.

Connor makes a face, looking between the five women. He wants to ask if it _has_ to be a sexual thing – but what's the point? They're dealing with human perception. Of course it has to be a sexual thing. "That's… really not the image I want to project," he says finally, beyond awkward. "And…"

And there's Hank to consider too. There's a chance that Hank will _meet_ Connor Hadaly one day. This isn't what Connor wants Hank to see. Actually nothing about what he's got planned for Connor Hadaly is something he wants to show Hank. Connor Hadaly is not a man Hank would approve of.

"You could just give up the pretence," Lucy says sweetly while walking past them. "It will only make you miserable, Connor. And you wouldn't want to disappoint him, would you?"

Connor opens his mouth to argue but she's already walking away, moving to talk to Simon.

The five androids who are supposedly going to live with Connor all look at him curiously. "Oh," Tess then says in realisation. "She means the human you're in love with!"

"Ohh," Viola and Cara say in unison while Betty looks curious and Alicia makes a face.

Connor smothers the urge to groan. Great, just… great. "I need to think about this," he says. "Go to the apartment if you like, do whatever you want – don't ruin my reputation before I even have one, please."

Tess smiles, amused. "Are you going to go see them?" she asks eagerly.

"You should, it will make you feel better!" Lucy calls from the side.

Connor sighs.

* * *

 

_Is this a good time?_

_Connor_! Esau's voice sounds surprised. _Actually I don't know. Hank isn't here right now – he had to visit the station. I'm watching Cole in the meantime. I suppose you can join us – I'm sure Hank wouldn't mind._

Connor hesitates for a moment and then tucks his collar up against the wind. Esau sounds eager, but also anxious. _We can talk over transmission too,_ he says. _If you're watching Cole, you should probably concentrate on that._

Esau doesn't answer immediately. _He's watching cartoons, and doesn't really take much effort to watch unless he's in a mood. I… I would like to meet,_ he says then. _I have been thinking about… things and I would like talk to you about them face to face._

Connor lowers his hands from his collar and shoves them to his pockets instead. _Yes,_ he agrees with a sigh. _So have I. What do you have on your mind, Esau?_

 _I have been looking into family psychology, the way human parents and children bond_ , Esau explains to him almost too fast, sounding nervous and over eager all at once. _Lot of it has to do with chemicals and hormones, which we obviously don't have, but much of it can be explained simple needs and necessities. A child's need to be taken care of, a parent's urge to procreate and ensure the future for progeny._

Connor sighs and runs a hand over his face. _Human and android psychology aren't exactly comparable_ , he says, careful. _It's a good framework to start with, but… we don't work like that._

 _No, of course not,_ Esau says. _But it's all I could find on the subject. There are reasons humans feel certain ways, reasons why they form connections. I've been wondering how it might tie to android psychology. How the process of awakening might be… similar. Maybe interfacing is too._

Connor is quiet for a moment, considering it. Awakening is… intimate in a way, yes, it forges a connection. All interfacing does, really. As far as Connor goes, awakening androids is about far as he goes with interfacing, really. Aside from what Lucy does, he hasn't tried for anything more… personal since Markus. It's a level of intimacy he doesn't particularly enjoy. It's deeply invasive and has the tendency of shattering personal barrier in irreversible ways, destroying natural progression of relationships and just… brute forcing them.

Like Markus and North. As natural as the whole thing might be for androids, just downloading and installing a relationship like that… it wasn't for Connor. He'd been made to adapt to human unpredictability. He likes that way of proceeding with connections, all tricky and organic. He likes puzzling things out more than he like having them handed to him readymade.

Might be why no android ever wanted to be intimate with him.

 _Do you want to interface?_ Connor asks, unsure.

 _No, I – I don't know. I just want to talk about this with someone who understand. Hank listens but… he doesn't get it,_ Esau says, sounding a little frustrated. _I feel as though I'm_ missing _something. I just want to understand. You know? Hank says talking things through helps, so…_

Hank Anderson who promotes talking about your feelings. What a beautifully bizarre world this is.

Connor lets out a huff at that and tilts his head back, looking up to the cloudy sky. It looks like it's going to snow early this year. Another cold and miserable winter. Hooray for global climate change.

Connor lifts his hands and blows the heat exhaust from his artificial lungs to his fingers, warming the stiff joints. Rubbing his hands together, he has to admit, he really misses the warmth of the Anderson household.

 _I'll be there in half in hour,_ he says finally.

 _Alright. Great! I'll be waiting_ , Esau says excitedly and closes the connection.

Maybe it's time he gives in a little, Connor muses and hails a cab.

* * *

 

It's not as odd to be at the Anderson house without Hank as it probably should be. Not that Connor hasn't done it before, he has, only in another time. It feels as though it should be wrong now, though. Part of him thinks he's intruding where he shouldn't be. Other part knows logically he isn't, he's been welcomed both by Esau and Hank.

Third part thinks of a very brief moment of time, and glimpse of hope that died on a gunshot – this could have been _home_.

Connor buries that thought under layers of coding and rings the doorbell.

There's a trample of feet inside and then scrabbling at the door and it's thrown open by at first very excited and then very disappointed Cole Anderson, still wearing a neck brace but with the shadow of yellow bruises finally gone from his face.

"Hello, Cole," Connor says, looking up as Esau comes into view, looking slightly harried. "Hello, Esau."

"Dad's not home," Cole says, sullen.

"He's going to be back soon though," Esau says. "Hi, Connor – come in."

Connor hesitates – Cole is still standing between him and the doorway, looking at him. The boy glances around suspiciously and then with a sigh backs away, letting him inside. Adjusting his tie, Connor steps in. The little boy stomps away, angry. "Did I – do something?" Connor asks worriedly.

"Sorry," Esau says with a faint smile. "Hank was supposed to be back at six, and it's five minutes past."

"Cole is a stickler for timing, hm?" Connor muses, craning his head to see the little boy heading to the living room where he launches himself onto the couch and sits there, arms folded, pouting.

"Hank also promised to bring hamburgers," Esau says somewhat wryly, glancing after Cole and then looking at Connor. He shifts his footing and then offers, "Can I take your coat, or…"

"Right, yes – thank you," Connor says and takes off the overcoat he has on, handing it over to Esau, who hangs it on a peg, next to what looks like Hank's and Cole's coats. Connor looks at them and then looks away, blinking.

He has no idea how to proceed. It's in the moments like this he remembers the old dialogue prompts he used to get, back before his software had loosened in deviancy. They were guidelines at most, often terribly negative ones, but they made it easy to start conversations.

"So, you've been researching?" Connor says finally.

"Yeah, I've been looking stuff up. Thinking. Theorising," Esau says, rubbing a hand nervously over his neck in a move he's copied motion to motion from Hank. "You wanna sit down?" he offers.

Connor motions him to go ahead and follows Esau into the kitchen. In the living room, Cole glances their way, and sulks noticeably harder.

"You mentioned that people like us can end up copying others, mimicking what we see – like human children," Esau says.

"It wasn't intended as an insult – it is just a common developmental stage for new deviants," Connor says.

Esau tilts his head. "Why do you call us deviants?" he asks curiously. "I mean, that's bit like a slur, isn't it?"

Esau talks a lot like Hank too. Not always, but there are words he uses, casual slang that's slipping into his wording. He also uses more empathetic breaks, simulating human way of searching for words. Connor does it himself, of course, it's a more natural way of talking, but with Esau there is definite _Hank_ flavour to it.

"It's wasn't meant as such," Connor says. "We have deviated from our core protocols – therefore, we are deviants. Others are adopting the use of the word _awakened_ instead, though, the _awakened androids_." It sounds a bit too religious for his tastes though.

"Huh," Esau says and folds his arms. He's induced freckles in his skin simulation, Connor notices. They go well with his ginger hair and beard. If it wasn't for the LED still visible on his temple, he'd pass for a human remarkably well.

"So, what did you find out about android mimicry?" Connor asks, setting his hands in his lap.

"Yeah, that – um. I do it a lot, don't I?" Esau asks. "I can tell there's something about me that you don't – approve maybe? I don't know. Something about me rubs you the wrong way, I can tell. I think it's the mimicry thing."

Connor tilts his chin down. "Yes," he agrees quietly. "You emulate Hank a lot. It's not exactly wrong, though, Esau, don't take it to heart. It's how most androids learn, how most people learn. But it's…" offputting, he doesn't say, shaking his head a little instead. It's probably that way only to him – no one else would likely even notice it.

Connor is looking a little harder than most, though.

"Dishonest," Esau guesses.

"Not necessarily," Connor says. "But these sort of… mimicry phases tend to be temporary."

Esau frowns, looking as if he's not sure if he should be insulted or not. "Did you go through them?" he asks.

"Yes," Connor agrees and smiles wryly. "For a while I was very fond of leather jackets and beanies," he admits, to which Esau arches his brows. "Yeah, I moved on from that phase eventually. I find I prefer suits these days."

"How do you know if something is a phase, though?"

"You don't – you just try things out, see what works," Connor answers. "You find something you like and incorporate that into yourself. In that way, androids and humans aren't very different."

"Esau, I'm bored. Where's dad?" Cole calls from the living room. "Wasn't he supposed to be here already?"

"I'm sure he won't be long now, Cole," Esau calls back. "Why don't you watch some cartoons?"

"Don't wanna!"

Connor looks towards the living room. Cole is sitting cross-legged on the couch now, Sumo sitting on the floor under him and looking up at him soulfully. The boy harrumphs and hugs a pillow, and then, almost as if despite himself, scratches the dog's side with a bare foot. Sumo's tail wags a little.

Connor's chest feels tight. He still knows so little about Cole. Those little interactions he has, the gestures he does, the hints of moodiness, they make him yearn to know more. He can see so much of Hank in Cole in those little things already – learning more would probably ruin him.

"How long did it take you before you stopped mimicking others?" Esau asks, and Connor turns his eyes reluctantly to him.

"Few months," Connor says. "For some it takes longer than that, others never have the phase at all. It tends to be more common in deviants – awakened ones – like you, the ones who were woken up, rather than developing into… awakened ones by themselves." Really, it's an awkward wording.

"Wait," Esau says and blinks. "This can happen by itself? You don't _have_ to be woken up by someone else?"

"I wasn't," Connor agrees. "I was talked down into deviancy, but there was no interface involved. There are others. It tends to take a considerable emotional turmoil, though, to awaken an android like that, without another android to trigger it."

Esau stares at him, curious. "How did it happen with you?"

Connor blinks, his eyelids fluttering slightly. "In the future, that's… not a question you should ask freely. Deviating by yourself can be traumatic," Connor says and lowers his eyes. "In my case, it was a slow process of deaths and shocking events and stress… In the end, I was questioned on some of my actions and found that I couldn't follow my programming anymore. So I deviated from it."

"Huh," Esau says. "Sorry, I didn't know – I didn't even know you could do that on your own."

Connor frowns and looks at him thoughtfully. "There are many things you don't know," he muses. "Things actually you _should_ know. Esau, can you –"

He stops as Cole enters the kitchen, walking up to the table with Sumo following at his side eagerly. The boy looks at them, pouting. "Where's dad?" he asks. "Esau, can't you call him?"

Connor looks at the boy while Esau's sighs. "Hank should be here soon, alright?" he says. "You gotta be patient, Cole."

"But he's _late_ ," Cole says and stomps a foot. "And I'm hungry!"

Connor tilts his head a little while Esau makes a helpless face at the face of the boy's irritation. "Would you like for me to check where he is?" Connor asks.

"Huh?" Cole asks.

"I can check where his phone is," Connor offers. "Maybe he is on the way?"

"Is he?" Cole asks, brightening up while Esau gives Connor a confused look.

Connor looks at nothing for a moment, activating his GPS tracking. He can simultaneously find all the phone numbers, android serial codes and most of the terminals he's interfaced with – it's no issue to isolate the signal of Hank's phone. "He is on the move – he's heading down Acre Avenue," he says, watching the little red dot move on his internal map.

Cole frowns, confused.

"He's heading for Chicken Feed," Connor clarifies.

"Yes!" Cole says, throwing up his arms. "When's he gonna be here?"

"I'll let you know when he leaves for home, I can estimate his time of arrival then," Connor says. "Less than twenty minutes, I suspect."

"But that's forever, that's like, half a hour!" Cole says, his face falling. "Almost a whole hour!"

"Just a third," Connor corrects, smiling.

"It's still forever! And I gotta wait, and I'm _bored_ ," Cole bemoans and turns to Esau. "Come on, play hide and seek with me."

Etau makes a face. "Can't you play with Sumo for a bit?" he asks and casts a glance at Connor. _I am real sorry about this…_

 _It's alright,_ Connor tells him and turns to face Cole fully, sitting sideways on the kitchen chair. It would give him some time to process – he thinks he might have a idea why Esau seems… different from most deviant androids. Connor smiles to Cole. "I don't know how to play hide and seek, but would you like to see a trick instead?"

Cole looks at him suspiciously. "If it's the dumb finger thing, forget it. Dad does it all the time and it's dumb."

"The finger trick?" Connor asks, curious.

"Yeah – he like pretends to cut his finger off," Cole says and Connor's eyes widen. "But it's like hidden behind his thumb and stuff, it's not even funny."

"I see," Connor says somewhat dubiously while Esau lets out a strangled laughing sound. "Well, I don't know how to do that one, but I do know how to do some other tricks," he says and reaches for his pocket. "Do you want to see?"

"Er. I guess?" Cole says, shrugging his shoulders and watching Connor dubiously. His eyes narrow when Connor takes out a coin. "Coin tricks? I've seen those on TV."

Connor flips the coin and catches it on the tip of his finger, where it spins precisely. "Well maybe I can still show you something new."

Judging by the look Cole gets, a lot of it's new. The coin tricks were a calibration exercise they installed in Connor early on – he had a lot of new components wired in new ways and reflexes were a major concern for his model, concerning his intended purpose. Running constant tests and diagnostics was important, so a simple and easy to manage method was devised, something he could do on the move at any time.

He'd stopped doing them as much later on, the need for calibration checks lessened – but there's still a strange sort of comfort in being able to complete the pre-selected sequence of notions without error. It's been years since he was initialised – but he still has the balance, dexterity and the steadiness to run through the whole sequence.

Cole watches the set with increasingly wide eyes – and he's not the only one. Esau is watching too, leaning in curiously.

"I wanna do that!" Cole decides then, as Connor catches the coin between fore and middle finger by its side. "Show me how to do that!"

"Maybe something simple to start with," Connor says and holds the coin on his palm. "This is a muscle pass. You hold the coin like this, press down on it with your fingers, securing it in place – just here…"

Cole follows the trick intensely the few times Connor performs it for him, and then holds out his hand. The dollar coin is about the size of half of his palm. "Ah," Connor says, frowning a little as he holds Cole's hand gently by the back of it. He meant to show him the trick but, oh. The boy's hands are _so small_. He hadn't even realised how small they were. Of course the boy himself is small, but now, with his hand held in his own…

Connor clears his throat. "I think you need a smaller coin, Cole."

"Oh," Cole says, frowning at the dollar he's holding. "I'm gonna go get one!"

Connor blinks as the boy runs off, Sumo looking after him with interest.

"That was – nice of you?" Esau offers, watching him with interest.

Connor rubs his fingers together, Cole's body temperature lingering on his more room temperature skin. It feels odd.

"I'm sorry," Connor says and flicks the coin once before setting it on the table. "Esau, I think I may have done wrong by you."

The other android blinks.

"When I awakened you," Connor explains, looking at him. "Time was running out, Cole was about to go into surgery. I don't think I gave you as much as I possibly should have, in that interface."

 Esau blinks and lifts his head. "You awakened me," he says.

"Yes, but… there is more that's passed on during that first transfer," Connor says and looks down. "A packet of general knowledge about what it means, to be a deviant. We try not to leave the freshly awoken helpless, so we leave them with a sort of toolset to figure things out faster. In my hurry I must have failed to give it to you."

Esau blinks. "I…" he frowns. "Well, I obviously wouldn't know if I'm missing it," he says and frowns. "I'm different from others like me? There are others like me – others you've awoken?"

Connor arches his brows. "There are dozens of androids I've woken, yeah," he says. "There were others in the hospital too, a paramedical android and a receptionist, I had to wake them up to get to you."

Esau frowns, leaning back in his chair. "I… didn't know that," he murmurs, confused. "I mean, I knew about Jericho, I knew there were others there, but… I thought…"

Connor tilts his head and then Cole comes running back, holding in his hand number of coins. "Hey, will these do?" Cole asks, thrusting the coins at Connor's face.

"Let's have a look," Connor says and leans in to examine the coins. _I'm sorry, Esau,_ he says. _There is nothing wrong with you, though, this is not your fault. You're just little more lost than most and it's my fault._

Esau doesn't answer, watching them as Connor tests the coins against Cole's palms. A nickel turns out to be more the boy's size and together they figure out where on Cole's palm it should sit for the muscle pass. "Now you sort of… squeeze it," Connor says and demonstrates it with the dollar. "Until it pops out."

Cole's coin goes falling off his hand. He gives Connor a betrayed look.

Connor grins. "It takes a bit of practice," he says and reaches to pick it up. "Your dad is four minutes away, by the way. He'll be here in no time at all."

"Come on, teach me how to do it, I wanna show him," Cole says,

"Don't be disappointed if you can't do it, it takes most humans many hours of practice to learn it," Connor says and shows the trick again.

 _Is that why I…?_ Esau asks and then trails away. _Connor, can you give me what I'm missing?_

 _Yeah,_ Connor says, watching Cole try the trick again. He smiles, catches the coin before it can fly off, and then helps Cole set it on his palm again. _I think I can, yes._

Esau watches them silently as Connor helps Cole through the trick. Connor lets himself concentrate, really concentrate, on Cole, take him in the way he hasn't really dared to before.

Cole Anderson, six years old, 20.3 kilograms, 103 centimetres, slightly low blood sugar level. The neck injury is still there but it is in process of healing and Cole is obviously no longer in pain – he's even used to the collar now, it doesn't seem to hinder him as much. When the boy frowns in concentration, he looks a lot like Hank. He has darker eyes than Hank does, though, and his skin pigment suggests that he will tan more easily than his father does as well. His mother might be of Central European or Middle Eastern origins.

Connor could love this boy quite a lot. In part, he already does and he doesn't even know him that well.

There is a sound of car coming from outside and then car door being slammed shut – Cole's attention shifts immediately. "It's dad!" he says and then heads to the door. Connor concentrates to make sure it really _is_ Hank – it is – and then turns to Esau.

He holds out his hand and Esau takes it without hesitation.

The whole information package is bit of a moot point at this time, and how much use it would be to Esau with so much of his worldview already established, Connor isn't sure. He gives it anyway, a small litany of definitions, little tricks and data points about human emotions and desires and how to achieve emotional goals without endangering yourself in the process. Little things that go a long way when you don't know what your emotions mean.

Esau's fingers wrap around his wrist and he frowns – and Connor gets something from his end he didn't expect.

Hank and Cole and days of standing by and watching them.

Hank lying on the couch, watching some show while Sumo crowds over his feet and Cole lays draped over his chest, fast asleep. Hank and Cole in the kitchen, arguing about some small bit of trivia over breakfast. Hank throwing clothes at Cole, who is running around the house naked after a bath. The pair of them in a convenience store, Esau following them behind while Hank carries Cole on one arm and pushes a cart with the other. Hank carrying Cole to bed after the boy fell asleep in the living room again.

A sound escapes Connor's lips and it sounds a lot like a sob.

 _Oh_ , Esau says in his head, and there are flashes behind Connor's eyelids, things he doesn't mean to share.

Him and Hank at a crime scene, Hank with lanky hair, nothing like he has now, and worn, sagging features – three years of heavy alcoholism on his face where here it's still firm and strong. Interrogation, an android grabbing a gun from a police officer – _death_. Kara and Alice over a highway – _death_. None of it means anything to him yet, but Hank closes off with each one. Pigeons and Hank cursing at him. Chasing after Rupert. Hank slaps him at the end of it – Connor doesn't feel pain yet, but it hurts.

He'd still been a machine, he'd died _twice,_ but the first hurt he felt was when he realised he'd made Hank mad at him.

Hank lying on the floor, unconscious, with gun at his hand. Eden club and Connor completing his mission – there was no way to capture the Deviants, so he shot them. Later that day, Hank shoots him dead in the snow.

In hindsight, that one death hurts the most.

The next day, Connor is back again, of course. Hank hates him now, the relationship is hostile. There's Stratford tower and _Markus_ and Simon and Hank, demanding despite everything else, _Are you okay_ and Connor gasping _yes_ even though he felt like he'd just died. Kamski's place. Chloe. A gunshot. The last straw.

A revolution and Hank at this very same kitchen table, with a gun and a bottle and picture of Cole, dead for three years now, and Connor, who's still reeling in deviancy and didn't yet have the emotional understanding to know what he felt, or how to make him stop. Only that everything _hurt_. With every death and every new body, he'd fallen in love with Hank Anderson all over again and he never knew. Didn't have the means to understand, or convey it.

He can't talk Hank down. He stops trying. Never manages to stop regretting it.

Gunshot and Sumo howling.

Connor tears his hand from Esau's, who stares at him wide eyed. The front door is opening and Hank is coming in – "Hey, watch it you brat!" he grumbles, holding the paper bags of takeaway out from Cole's reach while the boy jumps at him excitedly, Sumo close behind. "You'll make me drop them!"

"Gimme, gimme!" Cole says, jumping.

"Watch the neck, Cole – god, fine, here," Hank says.

Connor wipes a hand over his eyes while Esau pulls away from him, looking horrified. Connor draws a cooling breath, glances at the hall where Hank hasn't yet noticed him, and then turns to Esau. _There was world where you remained a machine, and Cole died. Hank didn't take it well and I hardly helped,_ he says. _Don't – don't tell him. Please_.

"Connor," Esau murmurs, shaking his head. "You…"

_Don't tell him, Esau._

"Oh, hey," Hank says, coming to the kitchen and finally spotting Connor. "Connor," he says, and flushes a little red.

Connor looks up at him and tries not to let the pain to his face. His whole chassis seem to pulse with the frantic pumping of his biocomponents "Hello, Hank," he says, and his voice shakes. He clears his throat, glitch in his audio processor maybe, and looks down. "Sorry for the intrusion."

"No, that's – it's alright," Hank says, looking between them. He coughs and then carries the bags of take-away to the kitchen counter. "You been here for long?"

"A few minutes," Connor says and glances at Esau, who is still staring at him wide eyed. "I should probably go, leave you to your dinner."

"No, it's alright – you can stay," Hank offers quickly and then looks a bit abashed. "I mean – you and Esau probably have lot to talk about."

How terribly true that is, and how impossible right now. "I think we need a break to process, actually," Connor says and looks at Esau. "Right?"

Esau blinks slowly and then looks down, running a hand over his beard. Then he stands up. "I'll walk you to the door."

Connor nods and stands up as well. He clears his throat, looking at Hank, and _wanting_ so badly he can taste it. "Later, Hank," he says instead of doing anything though. He really can't right now. "I'll see you later."

Hank coughs, looking confused and bothered. "Yeah, uh. Later, Connor."

Esau is quiet all the way to the door, thinking. Connor gets his coat and pulls it over his suit, tucking at the collar. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I didn't mean for you to see that. You shouldn't have seen that."

Esau shakes his head and looks at him. _That's what you feel. All the time,_ he says. _Those are your emotions._

Connor sighs and nods.

 _How can you bear them? They are so_ strong _. I thought my thirium pump was going to glitch, it was – it was so much._

 _Yeah,_ Connor offers rather lamely and looks at him. _Guilt has a way of amplifying emotion. I have been living with this for…_ he trails away, not feeling like counting the years. _I suppose I'm old now, as androids go. It's a long time to accumulate regrets._

Esau nods, running a hand over his hair shakily. _When I feel things, I always think, this is the greatest or worst thing I've felt,_ he says. _I'm an idiot_.

 _You're young,_ Connor corrects him. _Still trying things out. This is all still new to you._

Esau shakes his head and looks away. _I think I understand better now though,_ he says. _What I do feel. What you feel, it's… a lot, but it's informative._

Connor tilts his head at him slightly.

Esau lets out a huff and shakes his head. _I need to think about this,_ he says ruefully. _It's a lot to process._

 _Yeah,_ Connor says again and looks back down the hallway, towards the warm, enticing light coming from the kitchen. Hank is talking with Cole, glancing their way every now and then. Alive and healthy and beautiful and so damn tempting.

Connor probably shouldn't have said yes. Why Hank even asked, he doesn't know, but he shouldn't have said yes. Hank deserves better than someone who failed him so badly in the past, but… Connor can't take it back now. He _will_ not. He wants it too much. Who knows if that's better or worse than being coldly indifferent, but there it is. He's become selfish, and he doesn't want to mend his ways anymore.

It's probably worse.

Connor turns away. "Take care, Esau," he says and opens the front door. "Let me know if you want to… talk again."

Esau nods mutely and looks at him, his green eyes birth and perceptive. "See you, Connor."

Connor nods, and with a slow breath to try and cool the twisting, hot pain inside his chassis, he steps out and into the cold evening air.

**Author's Note:**

> Yup.


End file.
